One Depp Too Far For Mr Wonka
by Daemon faerie queen
Summary: Tim Burton based. What happens when Mr Wonka's interdimensional machine goes wrong and brings back his alternate selves? Join Captain Jack, Ichabod Crane and more for a wacky adventure! Beware of spoilers for other Depp movies.
1. Dr Wonkenstein's Blunder

Disclaimer: I do not own Mr Willy Wonka. I do not own Jack Sparrow, sorry, _Captain_. I do not own Edward Scissorhands. I do not own Mort Rainey. I do not own Ichabod or anything else that appears in Sleepy Hollow or Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. They all belong to the godly wonders that are Tim Burton, Johnny Depp and Stephen King but to name a few. Anything I happen to invent does, however belong to me. Dedicated to Rachel for daring me to write a fic with all my favourite Depp characters!

**One Depp Too Far For Mr Wonka**

Success – a misleading word. If not achieving success is to fail; can success only be so if absolutely every part of it was expected? And, seeing as nothing works out in exactly the way we plan, could anyone truly succeed?

William could. Whatever he wished to create would, at least eventually, come into being.

So long as it involved chocolate.

For William was none other than the world-renowned maker of chocolates, Mr Willy Wonka.

At this point in time, this most amazing factory was (for all the world knew) closed and William had spent many years solely in the company of a bizarre race of little people – the Oompa Loompas. Right now he was working on his newest creation.

A large machine had been set up on the sugar-frosted lawn of the Chocolate Room, the beautiful centre of his extraordinary home. Discs like silver dinner plates rotated on metal arms that spidered out from the top of the machine. Each little arm bobbed up and down causing something inside to hiss.

Mr Wonka tapped a gloved finger on his lips in thought. Then he pressed a square, purple button on the machine's body. There was a purring noise, then a loud _wheeee _before a miniscule flap lifted and spat. William caught the object in his palm and smiled.

It was a lollipop, bright blue in colour with the picture of an hourglass imprinted in the centre. He licked it and placed it back into the flap. The machine gave a growl and a door slid open in its belly.

Mr Wonka noticed that his workers had begun to gather, keeping their distance, their eyes as sorrowful as kicked puppies.

"I told you not to worry," he said. "But you scaredy-cats wouldn't test it out for me. I'll only be in there a few seconds, get a quick change and it'll all wear off after an hour or so, 'kay?"

The Oompa Loompas crouched lower on the banks of the chocolate river, their eyes peering at ground level as Mr Wonka got on all fours and rolled into the chamber.

"I hope I don't come back as anything dangerous," his voice echoed eerily. "Oh well."

The door closed. At first nothing happened, but then the machine began to shake and groan. Lights flickered, a train whistle blew, and then with one final shudder it fell quiet. The chamber sighed open and Mr Wonka crawled out.

"Weird. I don't feel any different." He frowned and got to his feet. "Am I taller? No, that's only because I was all balled up in there."

William gave an involuntary giggle and snapped his fingers.

"Darn it, I thought I'd have it right by now."

He was just turning to look at his faulty creation when it happened.

The chamber exploded. Mr Wonka was blasted off his feet. The Oompa Loompas shrieked in terror and fled from the room as it filled rapidly with smoke.

Everything was dark. William didn't like the dark much. It reminded him of the night his aunt locked him in the cellar as a child. His father had told her not to let Willy have any sweets while he was staying there, and she had caught him trying to take something from the biscuit jar. It had been damp there, and he swore he heard rats.

It took only moments to realise the reason for the darkness was that his hat had fallen over his eyes. It took even less time to notice that he wasn't entirely alone.

Two bodies lay nearby; one face down on the grass, wearing what seemed to be a smart suit of olden times; another, of which only the boots could be seen poking out of the jelly-filled pumpkin patch.

But Mr Wonka's attention was diverted to a third figure. The man was standing on the path leading down to the river, his back to the chocolate-maker. Draping down a scruffy shirt, cords of braided black hair spilled from a scarlet bandanna. At his waist was a combination of a red and white striped cloth beneath a leather belt; a pistol one side, an occupied scabbard at the other.

William stood up slowly, hugging his cane to his chest. He crept along the path, taking care not to make a sound as he closed in on the stranger. Reaching out with his cane, he tapped the man on the shoulder.

"Aghh!" they cried in unison.

"You're a – you're a _pirate_!" Mr Wonka screamed.

"Aghh! You're a-." The pirate paused. "Just bear with me, mate. What are you?"

"I'm, I'm a chocolate-maker," William stammered.

"Oh right." The pirate returned to his frightened stance. "Aghh! You're a chocolate-maker!" he roared, his arms splayed dramatically.

Mr Wonka held his cane like a barrier between them.

"You know, you're vaguely familiar."

"I should think I'm more than _vaguely familiar_, mate. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."

The pirate gave a grin that sparkled a couple of gold-capped teeth.

"Yeah, I don't know who that is." William's voice was always childish and matter-of-fact. "But I think I've seen your eyes before."

Jack sidestepped him and moved gingerly across the grass. Only the tips of his boots touched the floor, he carried his hands as though on the verge of playing a piano. He stopped when he reached the prone body of the man in the eighteenth century suit.

"O' course, that makes sense," he said, looking back to the eccentric in the top hat and tails. "I got very drunk, more so than usual. This man can't handle 'is drink and this…place…is just a very detailed 'allucination."

Mr Wonka had to protest, "Oh no, it's all very real."

"You would say that," Jack replied. "My brain invented you too."

"Well then, you'll know all about making chocolate."

Jack wasn't listening. He was poking the unconscious man. Readying himself to deal out a few slaps, he rolled him over.

"Bloody 'ell!"

William flinched and watched the pirate stagger back in alarm. He looked at him, waiting for an explanation.

"He…you…" Jack slurred, pointing at both the young man and Mr Wonka. "'E's you! You're 'im! I mean… you're both each other." He hesitated and took a closer glimpse at the dormant one before adding, "Only e's got better hair."

Mr Wonka blurted out a squeal of delight. Shaking his fists with glee, he skipped over to see for himself.

"I did it! This is so cool. I actually crossed dimensions." By now he was muttering to himself. "Okay so I was supposed to actually become one, but this is great! But wait, if I'm still me, and none of them are this me, and by them I mean there's more than one, then…oh no."

William swung around to face the pirate and came almost nose-to-nose with him. He 'hmm'ed a few times, then reached with his cane to poke at Jack's hair braids.

"Do us a favour, mate, and tell a fellow just exactly what you're doing," Jack growled, slapping the stick away.

"I was checking to see if you're me too," Mr Wonka said with an air of excitement.

Jack looked affronted.

"What? Me you? No. With that complexion? Unlikely."

"All right Mr Smarty Pants," William replied with his most irritating singsong voice. "You try taking the sequins and eyeliner off your noggin, getting a shave, a very-." He paused to sniff. "-very long bath and waiting 'til your skin isn't as orange as an Oompa Loompa's and then tell me you don't look like me or that guy."

"My skin is _not _as orange as a – whatever it was you just called me," Jack defended. "The Caribbean tan and 'ow I decorate my 'ead is what you might call style. Drives the women crazy. And as for the us being one and the same, what would you be calling yourself?"

The chocolate maker stepped back and tipped his hat.

"Mr Wonka, owner of this factory."

There was a groan from the grass.

"The whelp's awake."

At Jack's words, they turned to see the prostrate man's eyes flickering open. A few seconds passed and he sat bolt upright. Colour returned to his cheeks when he saw the two men staring at him.

"Oh thank goodness!" he cried in absolute Standard English. "You all have heads."

"Yes, we do!" said William, beaming.

"Quite," said the man, getting up. "Who are you?"

"I… am Captain Jack Sparrow. And this enthusiastic character would be Mr Wank- er, sorry, Mr Wonka." Jack looked shifty for a moment, then he added, "Apologies, I didn't catch your name."

"That's because I didn't give it. Constable Ichabod Crane."

Mr Wonka appeared to find this fascinating.

"Wow. We're all named after birds!"

There was a brief silence, then –

"I've never 'eard of a Wonka bird."

"Do you know," William said, ignoring Jack's comment. "There are far too many mumblers in the world. Can't hear a word they're saying."

Crane forced a smile.

"Judging by your attire, Mr Sparrow, I'd be inclined to think that you were some sort of corsair."

"Oh no, mate. They're bloodthirsty mindless savages. Me, I'm just a pirate. Wouldn't 'urt a fly unless it suited me."

Ichabod straightened his coat collar and attempted to circle the captain. However, Jack was mimicking his movements.

"Mr Sparrow, are you aware that piracy is an arrestable offence? Of course you will be. You don't really strike me as a law-abiding man. I'm afraid I shall have to take you into custody."

Jack's grin widened, showing off the additional silver-capped incisors of his bottom jaw.

"Is that so? You and what particular army?"

Constable Crane halted. He glanced from side to side, observing the confectionary environment for the first time. Still he seemed determined to ignore the fact that he didn't have a clue where he was.

"You there, sir," he called to Mr Wonka. "You would bear witness to the justified arrest of this criminal, would you not?"

"What's he done wrong?"

Ichabod answered tensely. "Well, pirate things obviously!"

"Well now, that's a bit broad. Have you seen him doing anything bad while he's been here?"

"Of course I haven't. I just woke up!"

During all of this, Jack was pivoting on one foot between the two speakers, an inane smile plastered on his face. He was clearly enjoying himself.

Ichabod grimaced. He was opening his mouth to speak when he heard something moving behind him. By the look of the pirate's quickly fading expression, it wasn't something he was going to like. He turned and paled.


	2. The Man From The Pumpkin Patch

Author's note: All right guys, you twisted my arm lol. Damn I was going for giving a bit a week so you don't catch up with the 23 pages I've written so far. But then people go suggesting things that I already wrote and I can't even prove that you didn't give me the idea P But yes, of course there had to be something going on between Jack and the pink boat, in a platonic sense, which shall be at a fanfiction chapter near you soon! Just not this one. Enjoy, and I'll try not to succumb to beggings . Thank you all for the wonderful reviews so far and I'd appreciate anyone who hasn't reviewed on the previous page to note for both if they have time :D

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"Now that _is _a great trick," Jack said decidedly. "I never seen anyone carry so many knives in their 'ands."

From what they saw, it was a beast with the torso and legs of a man but with a large bulbous oval perched on top of its shoulders. Its arms splayed out at the ends into keen talons.

Ichabod had fled to a position behind the pirate.

"Look at its head!" he gasped.

"Oh that's not its head," Mr Wonka said, a nervous smile fixed on his face.

"Not its head?" the constable squeaked. "Then where is it?"

"I should imagine it's somewhere inside that jelly-filled pumpkin. It probably got its head stuck in one when it landed in the patch."

Jack gave Mr Wonka an incredulous look and mouthed the words 'jelly-filled pumpkin?' before shaking his head and turning back to view the awkward creature.

"Well we'd better see what we can do about that 'adn't we?"

He drew the cutlass from his belt, the edge of the blade stopping millimetres from Ichabod's nose.

The detective promptly fainted.

Jack approached the pumpkin-headed thing, this time strutting with the entire soles of his boots. He circled his wrist, making the blade swing in lazy arcs.

"You there with the pumpkin on yer 'ead!"

The something didn't stop moving. It wandered blindly, its knife-like instruments clacking in distress. It was then that Jack realised that it wasn't carrying anything at all. The humanoid's hands were like giant shears, each with a few extra metal bits for fingers.

Jack gave a confused smirk and called out again.

"You with the scissor thingy hands! Stand still!"

That worked. The creature stopped, its sharp pieces chattering as it trembled.

With a couple of elegant flicks, Jack cut out a wedge of the strange fruit. Then, flipping the sword over so he held the blade, he knocked the bottom of the pumpkin up with the hilt. Following an odd slurping noise, the pumpkin flew free and rolled off through the hard-boiled trees.

"Thank you."

A mask of jammy goop muffled the quiet words.

"Socks of Barbossa! It's a boy in there," Jack shouted in alarm.

Mr Wonka made a very strange noise – a high-pitched, tongue-waggling ululation such as the kind young children like to make.

No one asked, since a short man with an orange-toned face immediately popped up from beneath a plug in the grass. William proceeded to wiggle his fingers either side of his top hat and clucked loudly.

The little man bowed and dove back underground, reappearing moments later with the end of a yellow hosepipe. Mr Wonka took a few further steps back. He didn't bother to warn Jack as the Oompa Loompa rushed forwards and let loose a monsoon.

"Amazing!" William cried when the spraying had ceased. "Isn't he fantastic? Look at his hair, it's so wild!"

The man with the metal hands gave a tiny smile and nodded in gratitude. His face was pale as ash, like Mr Wonka's, but with various pencil-line scars on his brow and cheeks. The water had simply run off his shining black suit.

Jack didn't have that kind of luck. His shirt slopped against his skin, water dripped from the twin braids of his beard. He sheathed his cutlass and squelched closer to the newly revealed person.

"Hair?" he barked. "How can anyone call that hair? I've seen kelp with less tangles."

The pirate had a point. The poor young man seemed to have piles of curling cassette tape streaming out at odd angles from his head. And yet, it projected a kind of bedraggled beauty.

"Well hey there, little fella." Mr Wonka beamed, stepping over the unconscious Ichabod. "And what would your name be?"

"Edward," was the faint reply.

"Great to meet ya Mr Edward, sir, and welcome to my factory!"

"I thought you 'ad a problem with people mumbling."

Mr Wonka coughed. The purple plastic of his gloves squeaked as his fist curled against his lips. He glanced sidelong at Jack. These eyes screamed _just try it._

Jack held his tongue. He spun on his heels to speak to Edward, a hearty grin returning.

"Enchanted, mister Ed. A thousand pardons for the attitude; a man can get a bit… cantankerous… when too long ashore. Jack Sparrow, _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, if you please."

Edward smiled again but said nothing. He stared at his surroundings in wonder. Rolling hills of perfect emerald grass, a foaming chocolate waterfall plunging into a deep river, hedges bearing fruits of so many varying colours that they looked like mini Christmas trees.

William grinned. Finally someone had noticed his works of comestible art.

"You think it looks good _now?_" he said. "Try eating something."

Edward turned to him with wide eyes.

"Go on!" Mr Wonka urged, making shooing motions. "Scat! Taste whatever you like."

As he watched the scissor-handed boy scurry off to explore, William caught a glimpse of the constable. He was still out cold on the grass. William beckoned the Oompa Loompa who had been awaiting further instruction and knelt down to whisper in its ear.

The little man cackled and dashed over to the fallen Mr Crane, aiming the nozzle of the hose at his face. Mr Wonka had no time to stop yet another of his guest's soakings.

Ichabod leapt up, thrashing and spluttering.

"Well now, that wasn't very nice," Mr Wonka berated the Oompa Loompa. "Don't you go countin' on any extra cocoa beans today. Now git!" He nudged the sheepish creature towards the pit in the grass, watching sternly as it vanished out of sight.

"What was that?" Crane asked, pulling out a damp handkerchief to dab his face.

"An employee."

"I see. And what of the monster?"

"What? You mean him?" Mr Wonka indicated the young man who had just appeared beside the constable. He was munching happily on a variety of candied fruits skewered on his sharp fingers.

Ichabod yelped and skipped aside.

"He's not a monster," said William. "He's just a little different, aren't you Edward?"

Edward nodded over a mouthful of cream-filled apple.

The constable winced.

"How…curious."

Willy Wonka frowned suddenly.

"Is it me or do I hear a distinct lack of mumbling?"

All eyes turned to Captain Sparrow who was leaning against the trunk of a candy-striped cane tree. He was struggling to undo the cord of a tiny drawstring bag.

"Uh, Mr Sparrow," William ventured, laughing awkwardly. "Where'd you get that item?"

Jack paused in his effort, seeing that all the attention was upon him.

"I acquired it off the little pixie with the water cannon."

"Aha!" Ichabod shouted with glee. "Proof of your disrespectful behaviour, sir. You stole that pouch, didn't you?"

The pirate shrugged.

"Take what you can, mate," he replied.

Mr Wonka watched him carefully for a moment. He smiled thinly, a flicker of evil in his features.

"Say, Captain. You got a nice set of rings there don'tcha?"

Jack raised an eyebrow and glanced down at his hands. They were bare.

"You'd have to be pretty darn fast to put one over on an Oompa Loompa," William grinned.

Captain Sparrow pointed a grubby finger at the chocolatier, shaking with rage. Then he sighed and slumped back against the tree, more interested in his newfound prize.

"They know what they're doing. I'll give 'em that," he mused.

Mr Wonka cleared his throat.

"I think you should hand that over to me now, mister. It's not meant for someone of your height."

"Isn't he about the same size as you?" Ichabod chipped in.

"Duh. I meant the Oompa Loompas, and no, he really isn't. I'm clearly a foot taller."

"You're wearing a hat."

"Can't see as that has anything to do with it."


	3. Piracy and Plot

A/N: All right, here's a bit more...well a lot more P I didn't want to break this section of it up so you get the whole bit of it. I wrote a few more pages of where I'm currently up to so that means you can have a little more . I should really do my work some day sigh Daemonfaeriequeen xxx

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An eerie drumming started from somewhere down the river. Drifting alongside the chocolate waterfall was a watermelon-pink boat. It shone like a glazed humbug, a banana-split mass with an unshapely mound for the prow.

Edward, who had managed to get a considerable amount of cream filling on his top lip, gasped and pointed at the vessel.

"Oh that?" William asked. "She's real hot, isn't she? Made entirely out of a hollowed out piece of candy. Sure there's work to be done on the figurehead. I'm thinking maybe a sea critter or something."

Ichabod raised an eyebrow, trying not to look too overwhelmed.

"You mean to say that you've made a boat that people can actually eat?"

"Absolutely. Well I mean, no, of course you can't eat it. Where would we be if we started chomping all over it? At the bottom of my chocolate river, that's where. Maybe people could lick it, but then…ew… the seating would be all sticky. Remind me to forget to tell the kids that it's edible, will ya?"

"Ch-chocolate river?" the constable stuttered. "Impossible. You couldn't sail anything on that, and, it's most unhygienic!"

Mr Wonka scowled and, instead of muttering to himself, chose to hiss at the room at large.

"See, this is exactly why adult attitudes have no place in the world of an artist."

Edward turned his soulful eyes upon the chocolatier.

"You have children?" he wondered.

"Oh god no, ew!" Mr Wonka cried. "But I _am_ planning on taking some on a tour around the factory soon."

"Now that I'd love to see," Jack exclaimed. He'd lost interest in the stubborn bag he'd snatched. "You keeping tabs on a load of brats in a place like this."

William rolled his eyes.

"They won't be alone. They'll be allowed to bring one p-." He hesitated, gritting his teeth. "They can take along one pa-par-."

"Parent?"

"Yeah! That." Mr Wonka seemed very relieved. "Anyway, that'll all happen once I've produced enough chocolate bars to hide my new Golden Tickets in. They're the invitations, see, and there's only five of them. They'll get sent out all across the world for people to find. Neat, huh?"

Jack's boots had barely touched the floor in his haste to stand before the chocolatier. His eyes glittered innocently, his face so close that Mr Wonka was teetering back from fear of contact.

"That would be what kind of tickets?"

"Golden," William repeated, leaning back on his cane to keep himself upright. "Gold-den. Not gold. Can you imagine how horrible the chocolate would taste under a layer of metal?"

The pirate's face fell. Until he caught sight of the boiled sweet boat approaching the riverbanks. He turned to his audience, hands pressed together as though in prayer.

"Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me."

Jack leapt onto the shell of a jelly pumpkin and sped down the hill towards the river, arms flailing like a scarecrow. He bowled onto the deck of the boat, rolling onto his feet and ending with a flourishing spin.

Mr Wonka started clapping with enthusiasm. Then he noticed the look of distaste coming from the constable.

"You do realise he's stealing your boat?"

"That's _commandeering_, constable!" Sparrow called. "I'm commandeering his boat."

William tutted at Ichabod.

"See, he's not doing anything bad. Honestly, mister, you have no faith in people at all."

"Commandeering _is _stealing," Ichabod said testily.

"Oh." Mr Wonka seemed to fall into a lost trance. What little light shone in his ashen face flickered and died. Then, as if something had kick-started a motor inside of him, he burst out with, "Hey! You can't do that! You're not supposed to steal!"

Crane wished he were still unconscious. Being in a room full of lunatics wasn't helping his philosophy of sense and reason. He was starting to crack.

"Mr Sparrow!" His voice had reached a comically high pitch. "I demand that you withdraw from that boat this instant!"

Jack grinned and spread his arms wide in theatrical style.

"I must take my leave of you, good sirs. Onward to plunder to me 'eart's content. Who knows, per'aps I'll find me one of those golden tickmajigs and earn me a pretty penny? This is the day that you will always remember as the day that- OW!"

"Well that was an inspiring speech," Ichabod sneered.

Captain Sparrow was being clubbed mercilessly by a swarm of oar-wielding Oompa Loompas. Crawling out from the mob, he threw himself ashore and tore back up the hill yelling, "Bloody pygmies!"

Mr Wonka hid his grin and waved his workers on their way. Looking rather smug, he prepared himself for the pirate's apology. However, this he didn't get, as the constable was already making a move.

"This has gone far enough!" Crane bellowed, marching up to Sparrow. "I insist that you surrender your weapons, sir, and follow under my orders from now on."

Jack's glazed stare lasted long enough for Ichabod to feel very foolish. Then, without so much as a flicker of warning, the cutlass was drawn. The point rested beneath the constable's chin.

William took this moment to interrupt.

"All that time you were struggling with that little bag, how come you didn't think to slice it open, Mr Sparrow?"

"It's been a long day," came the sulky reply.

"Then why don't you open it and treat yourself to whatever's inside? I think you've earned it by now."

The pirate glanced at Mr Wonka with suspicion. Then at last he lowered his blade and shoved it into Ichabod's hand.

"Hold this."

Jack removed the drawstring bag from his belt then retrieved his sword once more from the confused constable. He slit it open, spilling some of the contents – an assortment of toffee-coloured sweets. As the smell of these delights reached him, his eyes began to water.

"They're…they're rum flavoured!"

Ichabod tutted.

"Oh wonderful. Get the madman drunk why don't you?"

As the pirate fumbled excitedly to take hold of one of the toffees, Wonka stepped up and tugged the constable backwards. Jack was putting a sweet to his lips as the chocolatier snatched hold of Edward too, ensuring they were out of harm's way.

When all hope seemed lost, Jack stopped suddenly, the sweet hovering close to his mouth.

"What's wrong with these things?" he asked.

"Nothing," said William. "They're just a tad…strong."

Jack shrugged and stuffed the toffee into his mouth. One chew was all it took. There was a deafening BANG and he was blasted backwards into the trunk of the candy tree. He slumped to the ground, smoke pouring from his mouth.

"That was bloody amazing," he laughed.

Then he passed out.

The others stood up from their cowering positions. Mr Wonka was feverishly dusting his gloves off from having too much human exposure.

"What in heaven's name was that?" Ichabod wondered, astounded.

"Wonka's Exploding Candy," William replied. "The Oompa Loompas love playing jokes with them. Probably meant for him to steal them all along." The chocolatier set about binding the unconscious pirate with a long whip of liquorice. "There. That oughta hold him."

All three of the remaining acquaintances breathed a sigh and sat upon the glazed path of bonfire toffee snaking its way across the sugar meadow. Several minutes passed where none said a word but simply scanned each other's faces.

"So," the constable said at last. "I think I've come to the likely conclusion that we are in fact _not _dreaming."

Mr Wonka giggled, looking over at Edward.

"Golly, he's a little behind isn't he?"

Ichabod continued loudly.

"What we should now be considering is the question of our whereabouts. Aside from your chocolate factory," he added hastily as another of the chocolatier's remarks threatened. "We can't possibly all be in the same place at the same time unless there was a very serious tear in the fabric of the universe itself. So I would suppose."

"Wow, Mr Crane, what a terrific theory. You should be a scientist," William exclaimed.

"I _am._"

"Oh. I thought you said you were a detective."

Ichabod locked his jaw and repeated his last answer.

"Huh," said Mr Wonka, shrugging. "Well I think it's pretty stupid to go around calling yourself only half of what you are. You should think about changing your job title to _Constientist_ or Scientective or something."

The constable sank his head into his hands, appearing on the verge of weeping. Edward's small smile faded at the sight of this poor individual's distress.

"I think you need to be a little nicer to him," he whispered to William.

"Nah, he'll be fine," Wonka beamed. "He's a grown-up. Grown-ups can cope with _enormous _amounts of stress. That's why they're in charge of all the boring things. Oh, and Mr Edward, don't keep poking the pirate like that, 'kay? You don't know where it's been."

A sharp hissing noise escaped Ichabod's lips before he sat up straight and took up where he had left off.

"What I was _trying _to say was that I believe we have inadvertently been subjects of time travel. Which means that all of us must look like each other at some point in the course of our lives."

Already the constable was sounding less convinced of his own theory.

"So you figure that each and every one of us will have started out looking like a kitchen utensil (no offence Mr Edward), evolved hands, studied law, developed a dramatic British accent, dropped it, gave up law to become a chocolate-maker and then retook up a more slack edge of the British again to go on a long sailing trip? And whoa, just how does anyone grow that much hair anyway?" Mr Wonka gasped in mock excitement. "Say, maybe he perfected my hair toffee recipe!"

Ichabod gave up.

"I expect you have a better idea?"

"Not an idea. I just know." William said haughtily. "I was in the middle of a breakthrough in inventing the world's first lollipop that would turn you into an alternate version of your very self for a limited time. Just imagine it, one lick and you could find out you were an Egyptian princess!"

His audience frowned.

"Or prince. Anyway, none of my workers wanted to test it out for me so I had to do it myself and, well, instead of turning myself into one of you guys…I accidentally brought you here." He took off his hat, rummaged around inside and produced a lollipop identical to the one he had placed in the machine. "Take a look for yourself. Here's the little scamp that caused all this trouble."

The constable peered at the shining circle of blue on a stick, the picture in its centre like a grinning fish mouth.

"If you knew it wasn't about time travel, why did you paint an hourglass on it?"

"'Cause it's telling you how long the effects are meant to last. If I wanted to show what it _does_ I'd have to put tiny parallel lines everywhere. And that would be just awful, so predictable. Presentation is the key!"

Ichabod looked brighter all of a sudden.

"So when this hour's up, we go back to where we came from?"

"I wouldn't bet on it, sir," William replied ruefully. "The time span was made to cover the event of transforming into someone else on your universal gridlock of existence, not to bounce people around other dimensions."

"My god, that sounds like something I'd say."

"Yeah, it's really startin' to freak me out."


	4. The Lollipop's Last Mistake

A/N: (Cries) I have an upload addiction. This chapter makes you guys catch up with halfway through what I've written. I may post daily or every two days, but so long as you all accept that (so long as you're not fed up by then) they won't be updated very often when it finally catches up. Thank you so much for your fantastic reviews, it makes me feel so good especially knowing that this is just for a laugh and by no means decent writing in a lot of places...oh god I sound like I'm standing on an Academy Award podium...get off the stage woman! (Ahem) anyways, please do continue to R&R. If you haven't reviewed, please start doing so and I'll endeavour to read as much as I can of other people's works, if you do a signed review so I can click on the linky thing :) Have more mayhe- (coughs) fun with the boys! P.S, does anyone know why asterisks won't work in these darn introductions?

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At the near side of the chocolate river, something stirred among the strawberry bootlace reeds. It groaned inaudibly, its movements drowned out by the mild din of people chattering. A hand, traced with dribbles of steaming hot liquid, grasped the jutting edge of a rock that was ironically made out of the candy with the same name.

With the strength of that one arm, a body was hauled onto the top of the bank, half caked in oozing chocolate. It breathed, for it was alive and human, heavily. The scent of the river and the sickly-sweetness of the room were disorientating.

The last mistake of Mr Wonka's lollipop gazed through dripping spectacles at the cluster of characters seated not many yards away.

"So how might we return from whence we came?" Ichabod was asking. "Can the effects be reversed?"

"I have no idea," said William. "There's absolutely no way I could even think about sending you all back until the machine is fixed."

"Machine?"

"Yeah, that great big hunk of debris over thataways. The candy's useless without it. You can't go messin' with lay lines without some sort of a harness. You never know where you might get sucked into."

Ichabod scowled.

"Another dimension perhaps?"

Mr Wonka gave another of his nervous giggles.

"Can this machine be fixed?" Crane demanded.

"Sure, but we're gonna need some time." William noted that every word he was saying seemed to be making the constable more agitated. "How come you're in so much of a hurry to get back, Mr Crane? Was something really fantastic going on in your world when you were pulled out?"

Ichabod's brow creased as he tried to remember what he had been doing before he arrived here. The vague memory of his heart racing, the thundering of hooves, twisted tree trunks struck with bluish-white from the lightning storm overhead. Something was gaining on him.

"Mr Crane?"

The constable snapped out of his daydream, unable to stop himself from blurting out, "Absolutely, we should remain here. No danger of overstaying our welcome, haha."

Mr Wonka raised an eyebrow and exchanged glances with Edward. Then he dropped the lollipop back into his hat, which he returned to its rightful place atop his rather feminine head of hair.

"Hello?"

At the sound of the gravelly voice, the three on the path turned to see a dishevelled man with straggly, blond hair. He was coated from the knees downwards in a thick layer of runny chocolate. He also appeared to be wearing a dressing gown. The man squinted through his glasses at them, and swore.

"Hey!" William protested. "You shouldn't say things like that. I mean really. If an Oompa Loompa heard you he'd wash your mouth right out. Like, the other day I heard one of the younger ones, probably that kid with the hosepipe, and he said the word f-."

"Thank you, Mr Wonka, I think your point has been made quite clear," Ichabod interrupted.

The arrival moved closer to them, hindered somewhat by a slight limp.

"Did you just say Mr Wonka?"

"Uh huh," the man in question replied. "That's me. Chocolatier extraordinaire. Have ya heard of me?"

The stranger seated himself within the circle, his eyes fixed upon William as if any moment he might disappear.

"You might say that. You're only a world-famous children's story."

Mr Wonka pouted.

"I am so _not _a story. Could a story do this?" He stuck his tongue out and pressed his thumbs into his cheeks.

"I'm so sorry," Ichabod sighed. "It seems we've all been victims of a botched experiment by a man with the emotional maturity of an estranged infant."

The stranger wrinkled his nose as he examined the man who was now speaking to him. He had noticed the facial features were almost identical to his own, and he was looking increasingly perturbed.

"And who are you?" he asked the constable.

"Me? I am Constable Crane. I believe that is enough information to suffice."

The blond-haired man continued to stare.

"Not _Ichabod _Crane?"

Ichabod narrowed his eyes.

"How did you-?"

"You're from one of the first American fairy tales, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. All gets solved by a guy called Constable Ichabod Crane." The stranger paused before adding, "He was meant to be really ugly."

"That's absurd," said Crane. "Arrogant rumours. I'm merely working to discover the truth behind an elaborate ghost hoax. Fairy tale indeed."

"Is that so?" replied the stranger. "No sign of any headless horsemen then?"

Ichabod turned white.

The tip of Mr Wonka's cane whipped out to rap the un-addressed man in the chest.

"I think it's about time you told us who _you _are, mister."

"I'm not finished," said the man. "But I don't think you need to tell me who the other two are." He indicated Edward and the pirate. "More stories. Scissorhands, and the one you got tied up there is Jack Sparrow."

"That's _Captain _Jack Sparrow."

Jack sat up and winced. He squinted at the blond-haired man.

"Bloody hell, not another one." After glancing from Mr Wonka to the stranger, he continued. "I take back what I said before. This one's got the worst hair."

"You know him too?" Edward wondered timidly.

The stranger nodded.

"He's a Disney character generated from an amusement park ride."

"I'm a what from a whatting what?"

Mr Wonka's cane gave another sharp rap.

"Name?" the chocolatier insisted.

"Morton," the man said finally. "Morton Rainey."

The cane withdrew slowly without a word from its owner.

"Great," Jack piped up. "Now that we're all amiable and such, how's about loosening these bonds a bit?"

Seeing that everyone else had chosen to ignore the pirate's plea, Ichabod opted to question further.

"Very well, Mr Rainey, what may I ask is your current line of employment?" He looked the unkempt man up and down. "If in fact you have one."

"I'm a writer."

"I see, and I suppose the reason you claim to know us all is that you have read books about people of the same names?"

"You can say that," Mort answered with a thin smile. "Or you could accept that none of you are real and you're all figments of my imagination. I probably fell asleep on the couch again."

Jack sniggered.

"Denial's already overused, mate. You'll 'ave to do better than that."

"What kind of books do you write?" Ichabod pressed, frowning.

"Thrillers, mainly," said Mr Rainey. "Usually dark in tone, ones that make you think, you know? Only problem with those is the endings have gotta be _perfect_."

"Ah, so nothing verging on the occult realms then? Not feeling dissatisfied that your stories are not, as it were, of the flesh? Desperate men may call upon any number of forces to – agh!"

Ichabod bit his lip at the pain in his kneecap where the chocolatier's cane had struck.

"Wonderful to see we're all getting along so well!" William cried. "I think it's about time Mr Crane and I set to work fixing my machine, 'kay? Edward, you can stay here and make sure Mr Sparrow keeps outta trouble and, Mr Rainey, you can do anything you like… 'kay?"

He hurried to his feet, tapping and prodding the constable into moving with him. Once on the other side of the sugar-frosted hill, Mr Wonka pulled Ichabod behind the remnants of the multi-dimensional candy machine, out of sight from the others' puzzled faces.

"What do you think you're doing?" they hissed in unison.

"_I_," Crane retorted."Was trying to get to the bottom of this whole spectacle. If a man is able to claim that I am nothing other than a work of fiction, I have reason to believe he is not sound of mind-."

"You can say that again."

"Quite. Therefore it's entirely possible that we were not brought here by coincidence, but for some twisted purpose as yet unknown. And our dear Mr Rainey is most likely behind it!"

"No you moron," Mr Wonka snapped, his voice low. "I meant that Mr Rainey really _isn't _sound of mind. He's totally cuckoo. He's loco. He's a screwball. He's nuttier than one of my Nutty Crunch Surprises that accidentally fell in the nut vendor. He's-." He stopped, noting the unimpressed gaze of the constable. "Don't make me use my cue cards here. This guy is bad news with a capital BN."

Crane raised an eyebrow.

"Go on," he said.

"I already told you how you all got here. That was my fault and I'm gonna sort it out _ay-sap_, but right now we have a pretty big problem. Trust me when I say we have to keep our newest friend as happy as we can."

"Oh? And why's that?"

"Because, my dear sir, what he doesn't know is that while we are stories in his world, he is in actual fact a story himself in mine."

Ichabod's tense posture wilted. He sat on a patch of grass that was free of stray metal shards. Mr Wonka crouched to his level.

"So you have read about this man?" Crane asked.

"Not for myself, no. However, one of my workers last year was stationed in the Television Room. Television - that's a little box that shows you pictures, our time's way of showing books if you're too lazy to bother with words. Made a lot of storytellers redundant.

Anyways, it was late one night he came running out of there, the poor little fella was frightened to death. He said there'd been a really scary movie - a story, playing and he'd sat through the whole thing. He had to sleep with the light on for the next two weeks. Apparently the guy who pretended to be the main character in order to tell this story looked a fair bit like me. I don't think that Oompa Loompa will ever get over it completely."

"The main character, he was-?"

"Mr Rainey? Yeah."

Ichabod clasped his hands and pressed his lips to his thumbs.

"Tell me what happened."


	5. Shooter's Philosophy

A/N:I _was_ going to give you a really small bit to split up the scenes and stop me from giving you too much but it looked too measly and I wrote another chapter this morning anyway. I'll just put a line break where the scene changes, so idk, if you felt like pacing yourself you can read up to the line and pretend it's another chapter after. Enjoy, (runs away to finally get some work done).

* * *

Meanwhile, the three on the path had sat in disconcerted silence. Jack was having little luck in trying to extricate himself from the liquorice cord. He had thought about using his powers of persuasion upon either of his guards to set him loose. The young boy certainly seemed impressionable, but – as for Mr Rainey – there was something about a man who looked as though he'd been dragged sidelong through every hedge in a global radius that fuelled Jack's doubt.

He glanced over at Edward who was shearing patterns in the grass with his hands.

"I don't suppose you've ever considered a career on the open seas?"

Edward paused in snipping to give him a wistful look.

"See, it occurs to me," Jack continued, "that with your particular attributes you'd make a fine nautical man."

"Do you mean a pirate?" Edward asked.

Captain Sparrow feigned innocence.

"Pirate's such a broad term. What is a pirate but a man who asks for freedom and the right to live by 'is own rules, eh? All he needs is a boat under 'is feet and the clothes on 'is back."

"And everything else he poaches off other people," said Mort.

Jack scowled, but only for a moment.

"Jus' think about it Eddie, with 'ands like yours, no one would ever think of messin' with you. You could 'ave anything you ever dreamed of. O' course you'd need someone to steer the ship, but I'd bet those things could cut through rope like grapefruit."

"And the first storm you hit, the kid will rust."

Jack's fingers twitched, straining for the hilt of his cutlass. Mr Rainey moved with surprising speed. As though he had read the pirate's mind, he dashed up and shoved him backwards, pressing a tattered slipper firmly into Jack's chest.

Mort reached down, unbuckled Jack's weapons and slung them over his own shoulder. Captain Sparrow gritted his teeth as the crushing weight made the cord bite his wrists.

"Mr Rainey," he said in a venomously saccharine tone. "I'd advise you not to proceed in your current course of action… and get your bloody mitts off me effects!"

Morton fixed him with a cold stare.

"I'd advise _you_, Mr Sparrow, to watch your temper. I don't like it when my own fabrications threaten me."

Jack quieted, a chill running the length of his spine. He watched as the man pinning him flexed his jaw in a disturbing manner before lifting his foot. As Mort began to wander some distance away, Jack pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"Does it not strike you as odd that these _figments_ of yours act on their own whims?" he called. "Why did your foot not pass through me, hmm? How come we bleed?"

Mr Rainey turned, seeking explanation. Jack nodded towards the boy.

Edward lay trembling on his back, the blades of his hands rattling in midair. As Mort had made his rush at Jack, he had been knocked aside. A thin stream of red crossed his cheek.

"It doesn't prove you exist," said Morton, frostily.

"Aye, but I would have thought you'd be willing to accept. Or are you so determined to prove that you're insane?"

Mort ripped Jack's pistol from its holster and aimed it dead centre at the red bandanna. Edward stirred, getting to his feet. Jack shook his head.

"Stay where you are, boy," he said. "Not worth gettin' killed over."

But Edward's expression was firm. He took a step towards Mort. The pistol swung around to face him.

* * *

Ichabod was once again patting his brow with a handkerchief, his face almost as pale as the chocolatier's.

"I don't quite know what to say."

"You have to do something," said Mr Wonka. "You're the detective guy."

The constable grimaced.

"But the spade-."

"Yeah."

"And the thing with the -?"

"Screwdriver."

William gave a smile that was half wince.

"Surely he'll not harm any of us?" said Crane, anxiously. "We've done nothing to remind him of past grief or circumstance. Perhaps it would be best to let him believe what he wants to and in the meantime repair your machine?"

"That could work," Mr Wonka agreed. "So long as we don't leave him alone with anyone that's likely to hassle him."

It took half a second for them to meet each other's gaze. The chocolatier and the constable bolted back across the grass in time to see Mort aiming a pistol at Edward. Ichabod pulled out his own firearm, much to William's alarm.

"Lay down your weapon, Mr Rainey. I assure you I'm a faultless shot."

Mr Wonka hissed urgently, "What happened to the 'letting him believe what he wants to' strategy?"

A fit of panic had taken over Mort. He could scarcely believe he was in this strange place let alone pointing a gun at anyone. He shook his head as though fighting an inner voice, giving Edward time to edge nearer to Jack. Mort clutched his head suddenly, letting his gun hand drop. When his moment of pain ceased, he turned to observe Ichabod.

"Who d'you think you're pointin' at, Mr Crane?"

The others shivered. Mort's voice had slipped into a harsh Texan drawl. William whimpered and crouched low, pulling his hat over his eyes.

"Mr Rainey?" Ichabod asked, uncertainly.

"I ain't the one to go by that name, detective. Mr Rainey don't got the guts to cope with this kinda situation."

Constable Crane remained calm.

"Then let me guess. You would be Mr John Shooter?" he said.

Edward frowned at Jack, wondering if he was the only one who didn't understand.

"Don't look at me, mate. I think the stress 'as gotten to young Bodders too."

"It seems Mr Rainey here," Ichabod resumed, "has the unfortunate curse of a schism in his mind. It is through sheer misery that he unwittingly manufactured a second personality, one stronger and more ruthless than the other. One that goes by the name of Shooter, is that not right?"

"I'm more real than you'll ever be, Mr Crane," said Mort. "But you're right. I am stronger than Mr Rainey, a darn sight more 'telligent too. More so than you I'd wager."

Crane still did not move, ever watchful of Mort's gun.

"If that indeed were true, I think you would have dropped arms for fear of startling someone of less wit into shooting at you."

Mr Rainey gave a crooked smile.

"You can't shoot me."

"I will not if you cease this madness," said Ichabod.

Mort began to walk towards the constable, inch by inch.

"I didn't say you won't shoot me, Mr Crane. I said you can't. For starters, you ain't real, and second, if you do, can you guarantee that you won't blast a hole in the fabric of existence?"

Ichabod twitched.

"Is there anyone in this place who _hasn't _studied philosophy?" he hissed in the general direction of Mr Wonka.

Jack raised a hand.

"You're supposed to be tied up," Crane said irritably, keeping his pistol on target.

The pirate pointed to Edward who was shredding the rope of liquorice into tiny pieces.

"An' you're supposed to be watching the loony with my pistol," he replied.

Mort was now only a few feet away from the barrel of Ichabod's gun.

"Stop there!" Crane snapped. "I'm warning you."

"Then go ahead and shoot, Mr Constable," Mort goaded. "If you're willing to risk the futures of everyone in this room and anyone they're likely to meet."

"If you believed that you wouldn't be threatening people with Mr Sparrow's weapon. Now put the gun down."

Mr Rainey's arm raised just as Jack bolted forwards to intercept him. He struck the pistol from the constable's hand, catching Ichabod off balance. Mort fired.

William had covered his eyes. He crouched next to Edward who was staring ahead in horror. The chocolatier parted his gloves to see the constable's limp form roll before them. He gasped. With one hand still clutched tightly to his cane he reached out and tapped Crane's body.

"He, he's-."

Ichabod groaned, his eyelids flickering.

"He's okay!"

But Edward was elbowing Mr Wonka, the tips of his scissor hands in line with the man standing ahead. Mort stood with a grim expression, the pistol in his hand smoking.

At his feet lay the pirate.

Mr Rainey stepped over the body and advanced on the three companions. Both William and Edward rose, cane and scissors trembling, each trying to protect the other like brothers in arms.

"You killed him," Edward lamented.

Mort aimed the gun just below Mr Wonka's hat.

"What have you done?" the chocolatier yelped.

Mort pulled the trigger. The faint 'click' was the most deafening sound in the entire Chocolate Room.

"I'll tell you what 'e's done," came a voice from behind him. "Used my last ruddy bullet."

Jack stood, healthy as ever, his arms folded across his chest.

"So, seeing as that's useless," he nodded at the weapon. "I'll be 'aving it back."

Mr Wonka cheered.

"You should be dead," Mort growled.

"It's a fair point to be sure, but what can I say? Hell's too cold for the likes of meself. Savvy?"

Mr Rainey's eyes searched the ground until they came across Ichabod's pistol, an inch from Jack's boots. Jack followed his gaze and grinned cheerily. He picked the gun up between finger and thumb and let it dangle in front of him.

"I'm awfully sorry, mate. Were you looking for this?"

Jack gave the pistol a fleeting glance before hurling it across the sugar-grass hill behind him. As soon as Mort made to go after it, the pirate tackled him. The others watched dazedly as the pair, locked in a hair-pulling battle, tumbled off down the path.

Ichabod sat up, hand to his aching temple.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Mr Morton and the pirate seem to be heading for my chocolate river," said William. "And you sure scared the bejesus out of us."

The constable sighed.

"I _do _wish you'd speak English, man."

He got to his feet and peered after the rolling brawl. Looking back to the rest of the spectators, he pointed to Mr Wonka's cane.

"I don't suppose I could borrow that a moment?"


	6. Restless Hollows

A/N: Thank you soooo much for your reviews! If you haven't yet commented, even if it's the tiniest thing ever please do so other people will miraculously mistake this for a masterpiece andget a giggle:) Unless it's me and about 4 other people clicking back and forth like a maniac, there's at least 100 people who could post something :p Oh and if you'd like a reply to your posts (sorry I haven't been doing that until recently) then please make it a signed review! Uh, one more thing, there's been some question about why I chose to call Mr Wonka "William". Explanation I figured his father wanted him to be named after him butIbelieveat some point his mother stepped in and said she wanted the name to be slightly different, even if it was just so the right guy got the right mail. If there's anything unclear, apologies mates, I shall endeavour to merit you with the explanation goin' on in my fuzzy English brain.

* * *

Jack and Mort were scrapping like wolves at the top of the riverbank, teeth bared and fingers clawed. It was impossible to tell which had the upper hand in a show of strength, but at the moment the pirate was pinned down. This was remedied easily by pressing Mort's glasses firmly back into his face.

As Mr Rainey arched back in pain he was distracted by a loud whistle in his ear. He turned just as Ichabod cracked the cane across his forehead. Mort stayed focused long enough to give the constable a withering glare, and then lay still.

Jack shoved his unconscious attacker aside and allowed Ichabod to help him up.

"Well this is just wonderful," the constable exclaimed, wiping his hand on his sleeve. "After being slammed into another world full of abnormal parallels of myself, shocked out of my wits, attacked by strange little orange dwarfs and threatened by Mr Hyde, I'd say things can't possibly get any worse."

On cue, there was a small explosion over the hill.

Sparrow glowered at Ichabod.

"It's all down'ill until someone comes out with something as stupid as that."

Smoke streamed out of the debris, flashing every colour but the expected grey.

"Nonsense," said Crane. "You don't truly believe in the superstitions of a simple phrase?"

"By all means, mate. I don't care for the fancies of old wives' tales," Jack replied, "but what I _do _believe in is irony."

William strode over and snatched back his cane, flashing a similar glare at the constable. He pressed his hat down firmly and hurried over to his rainbow-vomiting machine. He ducked as various buttons glowed white-hot before shooting like comets over his head. The contraption's body was shaking.

The others neared warily.

"What's wrong with it?" Ichabod cried over the rumbling din.

"It's overheating!" Mr Wonka shouted.

"I can see that!"

William dodged yet another button's flight for freedom before diving for the remnants of the underside chamber.

"There's something in here!" he called. He scrabbled around with one arm in the belly of the machine and took hold of the thing. He pulled it out and stood, holding it aloft.

"That's my pistol!" Ichabod gasped. "It must've landed in there when…a-_ha!_" He whirled on Jack who was retrieving his armaments. "When _you_ were fighting Mr Rainey. Youmust've thrown it. This is _your _fault!" His eyes shone with a hysterical jubilance.

Jack gave a wry smile.

"How ironic."

The machine sighed and ground to a halt. Another wave of silence splashed the room. Then came a new sound – sharp, like a fork on china.

"Did anyone else hear that?" said Wonka.

Everyone began to back away from the broken machine. The sound happened again, a screeching of metal inside the apparatus itself. A thin wisp of steam rose from the top of the body then, without warning; a thin shaft of steel sliced up through the machine and tore down the sides like paper.

The machine groaned. All the bulbs in the Chocolate Room shorted, flickering out until the only light remaining came from a few lampposts scattered around the meadow. To the uncanniest audience, the metal body split apart and a dark shape leapt out of the core. A horse squealed, its hooves striking the counterfeit earth only feet away from the retreating men. On its back was a figure, armoured in leathers and a shining black cuirass of twin dragons. The horse was even blacker.

Everyone screamed.

Not everyone stopped. Ichabod spun Jack to confront him and struck him across the face with his palm.

"OW! What was that for?" Jack growled, for it was he who had been screaming the longest.

"I don't know," said Ichabod. "But it seemed like the right thing to do."

"Now _that's _what it looks like when someone has no head!" Mr Wonka declared.

The headless horseman's steed snorted and advanced slowly. The doppelgangers continued to back away.

"Everybody stay calm," Crane murmured, his voice strained.

"What does it want?" said William.

"Revenge on his last barber, perhaps?"

Ichabod was exasperated by Jack's calmness.

"It wants our heads!" he yelled.

"What? All of them?" said Jack.

"I like my head where it is!" Wonka wailed.

The constable took back his pistol from the chocolatier and fired at the horseman. It barely even jolted at the shot. Ichabod swallowed. The horseman reached to his side and unsheathed his sword.

"Not good! Not good!" Sparrow cried.

The stallion reared above their heads. That was more than enough for any of them. William and Edward dashed over the hill and lifted the Oompa Loompa trapdoor in the grass. They dove headfirst – Edward first – into the tunnel.

Jack and Ichabod had fled to the riverbank. With perfect timing, the pink sweet boat arrived on its next round. Jack leapt onto the deck and seized the oar from the Oompa Loompa captain's hands, promptly batting the little man into the river. He turned to the others.

"Anyone else want to quarrel with me?"

The Oompa Loompas shook their heads vigorously.

"Uh, Mr Sparrow!" came an urgent voice.

Jack spun to see Ichabod scrabbling frantically to climb on board.

"A little help?" the constable yelped, nodding towards the horseman who was picking up speed towards him.

Jack folded his arms and smirked.

"Now wouldn't that be a kind gesture from a lowlife like me?"

Crane slipped and landed in the shallows. He staggered up again, panting with fear.

"Mr Sparrow, this is no time to-."

"I would say it was the perfect time to, dear constable. If you can't learn your basic rules of social etiquette, you're little more than a swine in the mud."

Ichabod snarled, dripping with the cocoa substance.

"Fine!" he screeched. "Whatever you want, just help me up for pity's sake!"

The horseman was swinging his blade, only yards away.

Jack reached down and lifted Crane halfway up.

"Call me Captain, and we're square."

"Are you insane?" Ichabod whimpered.

The horseman's axe sang as it was drawn from his belt.

Jack did nothing.

"All right!" the constable cried. "Captain. Captain!"

The axe flew from the hand of the horseman. Jack hauled Ichabod onto the deck just as the blade buried itself in the side of the boat. At once, the Oompa Loompas began to row downstream, carrying them safely out of harm's way.

The pirate looked down at Crane who lay breathless on the floor.

"Now what do you say?"

"Th-thank you," Ichabod answered, and fainted.


	7. A Room Full Of Curses

A/N: Here's your daily dose of Deppcharries. Am afraid it'll start slowing down now as (lol!) I now have a blister on my finger from typing and writing too much! Anyways, this is the longish chapter that makes the sheep joke in Little Shop Of Chocolates (my other ficcy) actually have a bit more sense. I wrote this before I even started LSOC. As always, enjoy :) DFQ xxx

Edit: Thanks to Druscilla the Mad for pointing out some glaring mistakes as per my dozy writing which have hopefully been rectified.

* * *

After sliding through a pitch-black tunnel for what must have been five minutes, the boy with scissors for hands tumbled into a brightly lit room. Mr Wonka hit the ground seconds later.

When Edward stood he was unnerved to see that every pair of eyes in the room was upon him, and none of them were human. The blades of his hands chattered together and he backed off against the wall.

William got to his feet and frowned at Edward's behaviour.

"What's up with you? You're acting like you've never seen a sheep before."

Edward looked at the chocolatier with an expression of fear and confusion.

"You've never seen a sheep?" Wonka said, amazed.

"In books."

"They only eat vegetables, grass in fact. They're nothing to worry about."

"They're not usually pink," Edward replied.

"Oh," said William, somewhat guiltily. "That was an accident. One of the workers mixed up our ordinary feed with an experimental version of the sugar-grass upstairs. We tried to get them back on their proper diet but they wouldn't have it. Poor critters turned themselves into candyfloss. It all turned out for the best though, just don't get too close."

Edward repeated his look of bafflement.

"They're usually pretty docile," Wonka explained. "Unfortunately one or two of them get it into their heads that people are plants. Temporary side effect of their addiction to the sugar-grass. You see, whilst being totally harmless to children and adults alike, to sheep it acts as one of the most powerful hallucinogens. Oh don't worry, it doesn't damage them at all, and it makes the candy taste fantastic." He paused for a second then added, "Remind me not to tell the kids about this either."

The handless boy nodded and resumed his curious wanderings while the chocolatier puzzled the situation.

"I just can't understand how it happened," William whined. "Is that horseman another one of us? Is my machine now bringing back only _pieces _of people? It'd be just terrible to think that I'll have a load of men up there missing body parts. I mean what next? A guy with no arms?"

Edward paused in his stride to give Mr Wonka a slight frown.

"Sorry," said William. "Maybe I'm thinking too much. I've gotta feeling someone talked about that headless guy before but I can't think when." He put a hand up to his head in thought but found himself trying to grip thin air. "Hey, where's my hat?"

He walked back to the mouth of the tunnel and rapped his fist on the wall alongside. His top hat bounced out and was soon restored to its rightful place.

"Where was I? Oh yeah, I'm certain we've heard about that horseman before but for the moment…Mr Edward what are you doing?"

Edward ceased pruning fancy shapes on the sheep and stepped out of the fluffy pink ring he had made on the floor.

"You are one weird little fella," Wonka said, astonished. "If we weren't fleeing for our very lives, I'd probably hire you. Anyways, I think we're gonna need reinforcements. Come on."

The chocolatier side-skipped a highly grass-induced ewe and led the way out of the room.

* * *

Captain Jack Sparrow was feeling very sorry for himself. He had hung on for dear life as the boat soared over ridges, plunged through rapids and spun almost out of control into the depths of the chocolate factory.

And he had loved every minute of it.

"It's never fair, is it?" he was addressing the unfinished prow. "If only I were younger and not so soon attached." His hand, partially gloved with a black rag, stroked the surface of the boat. "But I'm afraid I'm a one-ship man."

The Oompa Loompas were rowing at a slow pace along a narrow strait, great circular doors with small glass windows passing on either side. Every now and then, Jack would glance at the entrances to these intriguing rooms, his eyes beady and searching.

Ichabod stirred. He made to rub his face and grimaced as he smeared sticky chocolate across it.

"Where are we?" he asked without really caring why.

"Stop the boat mates," Jack called, ignoring the constable. "If you look hard enough in a place of insanity, you're bound to find exactly what you need."

The vessel slid to a halt before one of the immense doors. Crane got to his feet and squinted at the sign above the upper rim. The lettering had been scrawled clumsily in paint on a board too small for the word.

"'_Wrprtzls'_. What in blazes is that supposed to be?"

"I've no idea, mate, but whatever it is, it has something I want."

Jack balanced himself on the side of the boat and reached out to turn the wheel mechanism in the centre of the door. There was a hiss of steam and the circular entrance swung open just lazily enough for Jack to step out of the way. He saluted the Oompa Loompas and climbed inside the room, Ichabod following close behind. The door slammed shut behind them.

The room was shaped like a pentagon. At its centre, a beam of light shone down to make a large spotlight on the floor. The edges of the room were steeped in darkness, curved silhouettes – probably covered equipment – outside of clear sight.

Constable Crane walked ahead of Jack towards the ring of light and looked up to see where it was coming from. In the middle of the ceiling was a grille and through it he saw the moon.

"This is astounding," he gasped. "I thought we'd be miles below the ground in a place like this but I can see the sky."

Jack 'mmhmm'ed and remained out of the light. The constable turned his illuminated face towards him.

"So what now?"

"Well first off, I think you should come back here," said Jack.

Ichabod was too tired to argue. He looked narrowly at the pirate before he made his way back into the shadows of the entrance.

"And now you may want to think about sitting down," Jack advised.

"What on earth for?"

"Because, Mr Crane, whenever something especially eerie happens you have a tendency to become somewhat, shall we say, horizontal. So just think of me doing you a favour, savvy?"

Ichabod shot back a dour look.

"Suit yerself," said the pirate and marched into the pool of moonlight.

From the constable's view, the soft beams had a horrific effect. Crane watched, petrified, as the skin on the backs of Sparrow's outstretched hands melted out of sight. What had become of the rest of him, he could not see.

"S-Sparrow? What's happening?"

The figure in the moonlight whirled around.

Ichabod's mouth formed a fearful 'O', his face whiter than ivory. A skeleton was grinning back at him: a bearded skull atop a clothed carcass, garnished with beads and red cloth.

"You're still conscious, Mr Crane," said Jack. "My inner crowd ripples with applause."

"W-wh-wha-." Ichabod stopped and cleared his throat. He took in a deep breath to regain his composure. "What _are _you?"

"The French ambassador. You _know_ what I am. Flesh and blood same as you."

The constable laughed hysterically.

"_Flesh and blood?_ I can see your bones, man!"

"It's just a curse," Sparrow replied, and it was then that Ichabod saw that Jack's eyes remained intact.

Crane kept himself from hyperventilating and watched as the skeleton pirate parted his shirt. Jack's bone knuckles rapped at his ribcage. Something rattled and dropped into his waiting hand. He held up to the light a tiny lump of lead.

"That's a-."

"Bullet, aye."

Ichabod shook his head in disbelief.

"You mean to tell me that you've had a bullet lodged in your chest since that fight with Mr Rainey?"

"Well," said Jack. "I didn't want to complain."

The constable gaped, but his words faltered. He watched Sparrow flick the chunk of metal into the shadows. The man didn't want to _complain? _Most people shot at point blank range into the chest cavity wouldn't have had so much as that luxury.

"H-how? What gave you this, this power?" he asked.

The cursed pirate reached into his right boot and plucked out a shining gold coin. He flashed the image of a wailing skull in the constable's eyes before flipping it up repeatedly into the air.

"Aztec gold, mate," said Jack. "Anyone who takes so much as a piece from where it lies and fails to return it with a drop of his own blood must spend an eternity lost of his own senses."

"Oh, you stole it then," Ichabod blurted, candidly.

Jack scowled.

"With good reason. If I'd wanted to steal something for personal profit I'd've chosen what works well on the markets. No, this is part of a mission. Before I ended up here I was crossing swords in an epic battle, right? Saving the girl, and her sweet'eart too. All in the name of good and whatever else those 'ero types say. There's no use taking on immortal nemeses without being one an' all."

Ichabod coughed.

"Immortal?"

"Aye," said Jack.

"Then pray tell me Mr Sparrow, _Captain_, why you felt it necessary to run from that blasted horseman!" Crane seethed.

"Look mate," Jack growled. "I don't fancy losing my 'ead more than anyone. I don't even know how _immortal _this curse makes me and I'm not planning on finding out."

"You could have at least tried!" Ichabod shouted.

"Sshh."

Crane barely had time to think about how impossibly odd it was seeing a skeleton attempting to hush him. Something was moving in the shadows around the edges of the room.

"We need to get to the door," Jack whispered. "Now!"

They hurried out of the light and back to the entrance, taking care not to make a sound. Ichabod's hands scrabbled across the smooth surface of the door.

"There's no handle!" he hissed. "It must only be opened on the outside!"

Jack, who was back to his normal skin-coated self, shoved against the solid steel. It wouldn't budge. The two men leaned back against the door and fell silent, watching the room.

Something waddled past them on four legs. Through the dark they could see it was narrow with a curved ridge for a back and about the size of a large dog. It snuffled around for a minute or two and then crawled into the beam of light.

The constable and the pirate burst out laughing.

The giant pretzel teetered around on its doughy legs to face its observers.

Jack and Ichabod carried on, shaking with mirth. Even when more shapes began to emerge from the gloom, a myriad of eyeless bakery products gathering around the ring where the central pretzel stood.

Crane's laughter faded. The pretzel in the middle of the light beam was shuddering, its stumpy legs barely able to keep it upright. The constable tapped Jack's shoulder frantically. Jack stopped chuckling too. Great chocolate chip spikes erupted along the lead pretzel's spine, the thin edge facing them separated in the middle and sharp fangs filled the gap. The pretzel howled.

"Now's a good time for a plan, Mr Sparrow," Ichabod squeaked.

Sparrow grabbed Ichabod's arm as the other pretzels crossed the line into the circle of light.

"On the count of three we run for that grille in the roof," he said, hurriedly.

"But it's too h-."

"One…two…"


	8. Scissors in the Elevator

A/N: My sincere apologies, but for the purposes of future suspense and the fact I've let you almost catch up to the amount I've actually written, the next few chapters including this one will alternate between the groups of characters. For the last few, I simply split a line so you could see what Mr Wonka/Edward and Jack/Ichabod were up to but for reasons that will hopefully make sense, I'm splitting each _'scene'_ into a chapter. Unfortunately, this may make some appallingly short (ie this one) so sorry about that. So if you're wanting to know what's going to happen to the poor pirate and detective, you'll have to wait alternate updates. Oh I'm so cruel. If/when the charries meet up again, the style will revert.

Extra note: I wasn't going to inform you guys, but -and no whingeing please ;) - Mort was the last of the Depp charries to be introduced into this story. I'm a strange girl and have this obsession that means I only include what I deem to be the worthiest characters of an epic and eccentric value. So strong is this obsession that I actually refuse to watch a movie of Depp's that is not Burton or Disney. Secret Window was a sheer accident before I developed my obsession with characters (and not in fact the dear actor himself, much as I admire his work), and I am partial to Stephen King once in a while so Mort earned his place.

Just so you know, many people think my neuroticism and stubbornness in this respect deserves me being strapped to a chair and forced to watch the rest of Depp's movies. Also so that you know, I keep a loaded pistol handy in case any of these people should locate my house.

For those of you who mainly love Ichabod, William, Captain Jack and Edward (or even Mort - bless you people who post in your reviews that you hope he's going to be okay!), you have nothing to worry about. Or do you...? Muahahaha...(_coughs and splutters_) All right, enough already, enjoy this short commencement to some smaller chapters...

* * *

William marched through one of the many mazes of corridors, Edward scuttling not far behind.

"Three more turns, Mr Edward, and we can take the shortcut across the factory."

Edward struggled to keep up, hoping not to scratch the walls as he passed.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"You'll see!"

The chocolatier skipped around the third corner and halted in front of a gap in the wall. He smiled at his companion.

"Here we are," he said gleefully. "My trusty mode of transport, the Great Glass Elevator!"

Mr Wonka stepped into the lift shaft – and fell several feet into a gaping void. He hit the slanted roof of the elevator face first. An Oompa Loompa wearing a yellow technician's helmet looked up at him sympathetically as he peeled his nose from the glass.

William, though he clung for dear life, still made the effort to grin weakly up at worried Edward.

"Maintenance, haha."

The Oompa Loompa inside the elevator fumbled around with some wires. There was a sharp 'fzzt' and the roof panels flipped inwards, bowling Mr Wonka to the safety of the floor.

William crossed his arms over his chest and bowed. The little orange man returned the gesture. With thanks given, the chocolatier stabbed one of the plastic buttons with his squeaky purple-coated finger and the lift moved upwards a fraction.

Having reached Edward's level, Mr Wonka encouraged him on board. No sooner had the boy stepped through the doors, they closed to behind him and the lift shot sideways.

Edward's scissors snipped thin air frantically. He staggered about the transparent elevator, clearly terrified at the speed and the fact that he could hardly see that he was standing anywhere at all.

"Whoa!" William cried. He broke his rule of no human contact, pushing Edward's arms down to his sides. "Take it easy, 'kay? It's totally safe. I'd never want anyone to fall down there…" There was a hint of untruth in his voice.

Edward bit his lip and stared into the many-coloured abyss.

"What's down there?" he spoke in a whisper.

"A whole lotta things," William replied. "More rooms, more space, tunnels to Loompaland, and beyond that, well, you can go on all the way to Minusland."

"Minusland?"

"Yeah. I wouldn't recommend it though. That place gives me the wiggins. It's one thing dealing with people, but people who don't even exist yet? Ew!" Mr Wonka shuddered before turning to the tiny technician. "Set a course for the main industry section, will ya? Next stop, the Ammunitions Department."


	9. Wrong Place For An Argument

A/N: Imaginary prize goes to those who spot the extra Tim Burton movie reference.

* * *

"For pity's sake man, lift me higher!" Ichabod shouted, his feet slipping on the pirate's shoulders.

They stood in the centre of the beam of light, surrounded by snarling wolf-pretzels, the constable's hand almost grasping the grille in the ceiling. Jack was swishing his cutlass around to fend off the beasts, one hand trying to prevent Ichabod's shoe kicking him in the face.

"Fine!" Sparrow growled as his bandanna slipped over his eyes. "How's about you try scrapping hand-to-'and with lycanthropic pastries and see 'ow you cope with a great lump prancin' about on yer collarbone!"

"Oh I'm sorry, your royal immortalness, but it was you who got us into this mess!" Ichabod snapped.

He kicked Jack just beneath the shoulder blades. As the pirate yowled and straightened, Crane pushed himself upwards and hooked his fingers through the grille.

The lead Werepretzel launched at Sparrow, knocking him over. Ichabod was left dangling while he tugged at the metal grid. Jack turned his face to avoid the mouth of snapping teeth that drooled chocolate sauce on his shirt, his hand scrabbling to locate his sword.

"Mr Sparrow!" Ichabod called, his arms screaming for mercy. "It's stuck!"

Jack slammed both hands in front of him to grab the jaws of the giant pretzel.

"Read the sign, Mr Crane!" he roared back.

The constable frowned and looked up at the grille he was holding on to. Some courteous person had painted the word 'PUSH' along one of the crossbars.

"Oh," said Ichabod, more to himself. "Well that makes sense."

"I thought it was your job to be observant!" Jack growled, his head smacking into the ground as two more of the Pretzel pack leapt on him.

"I am! Usually. Look, I don't question your aptitude towards your job!" Crane paused. "Well all right, I do, but you've no right to condemn mine. I happen to be very observant as a matter of fact."

"Then kindly _observe _where the bloody hell my weapon is!"

"Ah."

The constable swung out a bit to get a better glimpse of the mayhem below. After a few seconds he spotted something glinting not far from Jack's left side.

"There!" Crane squeaked. "To your right!"

A pretzel gnawed at the pirate's leg as he flailed around with the one arm, trying to keep the leader's mouth clamped shut with the other.

"No no no! Your other right! Down a bit, across, no, there, there!"

Jack seized his cutlass and stabbed it into the side of the Werepretzel that held him down. It yelped and pulled away, scampering off into the shadows. The others surrounding him cowered and ran, save for the tiny pretzel pup at his feet. It looked at him with its non-existent eyes and shook its head, a scrap of Jack's trouser-leg in its teeth.

He pointed his sword towards it and scowled.

The pretzel dropped the rag and whined. It wagged its back end and then scurried off with the rest of the pack.

Jack got to his feet, sheathed his cutlass and hurried over to where Ichabod hung. He jumped up and shoved the constable upwards, opening the grille and depositing him onto what he believed was the roof.

"Oh for the love of -."

Ichabod stood in a small room with a round signal beacon parked in the centre.

"What?" Jack called from below.

"It's just a big lamp. It wasn't even the moon!" Crane said aghast.

Jack's brow furrowed.

"Are you sure?"

_Am I sure? _Ichabod wheezed soundlessly. "Am I _sure_?" He swivelled the light so that it dazzled Jack's eyes.

The pirate flinched, immediately transformed into his skeleton form.

"Well that's interesting," he said, squinting with invisible eyelids. "Wonka must 'ave found a way to harness moonlight or summink. Now will you help me up or what?"

Ichabod reached down for Jack's bone hand but it fell short. He grumbled and shook off his long coat, twisted it and reached down with that instead.

"Don't tear it," he warned as the undead pirate latched on.

"Hold your bloody hair on, Rapunzel."

Both tumbled into the new room and hurried to replace the grille. At last they took a moment to catch their breath. At least, one of them did. The pirate, however, had discovered the delights of shadow patterns. He waggled his hands over the signal beacon. The picture of a bat flapped on the wall.

Ichabod raised an eyebrow at his bedraggled doppelganger.

Jack gave him a look of innocence.

"What?"


	10. The Ammunitions Dept

The Great Glass Elevator arrived at the mouth of one of the most gigantic rooms in the factory. Rows upon rows of humming conveyor belts shifted regiments of chocolate slabs; hundreds of robotic arms lifted the bars to and fro, sealing them in shining paper and foil and dropping them into cardboard packages for delivery. Above these, seemingly purposeless machines hovering on jets of steam pootled about the rafters, every so often bearing a candied treat out of a high hatchway.

Edwards's curiosity overwhelmed him. He waddled towards the active scene and banged his head on the elevator door.

Mr Wonka cringed and pushed a button to open the doors. He nodded to the Oompa Loompa in gratitude as he led the eager boy into a vital organ of his factory.

"Don't pay too much attention to this, Mr Edward," said the chocolatier as he hurried through one of the aisles. "It's all far too corporate in here, but it has to be done I guess. People always like the original product. They can be so ignorant like that."

Edward trudged past one of the conveyor belts, watching the journey of a processed Wonka bar with fascination. Every fine detail drawn by the robots, every moment one of the brown slabs was flipped by an accurate claw, he absorbed in a bittersweet trance.

William slowed in his tracks when he realised the boy was not keeping up. He rotated with the aid of his cane.

"Mr Edward, is there a problem?"

The scissor-handed boy gazed sadly at the clockwork motions of the belt.

"My father made something like this," was his reason.

"Oh," said Mr Wonka, gritting his eerily perfect teeth. "That's…inappropriate. Let's go."

Fortunately the chocolatier's rudeness had little effect on gentle Edward, and the boy followed Mr Wonka without hesitation. They reached the back of the room, seemingly a plain wall.

William tapped his cane tip in a diamond shape against it and a section slid back to let them pass. This next area of the factory could only be described as a boardroom. Several Oompa Loompas were seated around a long table, except for one standing beside a flipchart at the back. Two of those seated were children, for their features were pudgier and they seemed to find whatever was being discussed highly amusing.

"Boom!" cried one of the children as Mr Wonka took a seat at one end of the table.

"Hi!" said William in his best businessman voice, which wasn't really business-like at all. "How's the firework show for next monthcoming along?"

All the small people gave him a thumbs up.

"Swell! I wondered if I could ask a teensy favour…"


	11. Loose Ends

A/N: I am _so so _sorry for yesterday's chapter. I'm trying to make sure future chapters don't get that short any more. It should really have included this next part too I guess but as I apologised before, I'm posting them in scenes rather than official chapters. Anyways, to make up for it...this is your Christmas present. I've posted two scenes in one, complete with a dramatic build-up of tension (I hope) at its end. Thanks again for your magnificent reviews!

* * *

Constable Crane was watching with disgust as the pirate examined the red sticky substance on his cutlass. Jack sniffed the blood of the Werepretzel before dipping a finger in and tasting it.

"That's revolting," Ichabod exclaimed.

"Actually, it's jam," said Jack. "Strawberry in fact."

Ichabod rolled his eyes and lay back on the floor to rest.

"Wake me up when it's time to go home," he muttered.

Jack glowered at the constable. He put his sword away once more.

"In case you 'aven't noticed, mate, we might never get back 'ome. Not if that horseman finds Mr Wonka before we do."

"I'm sure he can take care of himself," Ichabod yawned.

"Come off it. You knows as well as I that 'e's just a whelp in a fancy coat. First chance he gets he'll decide the monster's misunderstood and'll get 'imself killed offering teacakes."

"What about that boy with the deformity? Edward was it?"

Jack shook his head.

"He's more delicate than the chocolate-maker. I can see it in his eyes, 'e's all domesticated. There's antelope with more murderous intent."

Crane sighed.

"All right. Then tell me which way you think the exit is."

The pirate looked around.

"Well of course it's-."

All four walls were blank.

"Yes?" Ichabod asked with a whimsical smile.

Jack staggered along the edge of the room, rapping his knuckles on the walls.

"Why do you walk like that?" Crane said eventually.

Sparrow meandered past an invisible obstacle.

"Walk like what?"

"Like you still haven't got off from the boat."

"I'm sensitive," said Jack, continuing to listen for hollow responses.

"Sensitive to what? Air currents?"

The pirate paused irritably. He turned to Ichabod as though addressing a toddler.

"Look. Every bit of dry land is an island, right? Dry land floats, right? One such as me can feel the sea miles below the ground. Now do me the courtesy and shut up."

Ichabod didn't say a word. He was used to some of the most convincing liars and Jack wasn't half bad at the game. As Jack resumed his search, Crane followed his progress with a little more interest.

"If I can't find a way out of 'ere," the pirate grumbled, unaware of the echo beyond his fist, "my name isn't Captain Jack Spa-."

A sliver of wall shot up and Jack tumbled down a near vertical chute. He skidded on his front across a polished blue floor and came to a halt before a tall shadow. Gulping at the black hoof resting inches from his nose, he slowly lifted his head.

"Good horsie."

* * *

"Now that's all sorted," Mr Wonka was saying as he skipped back into the industrial section, "we'd better go find the others and wrap up this whole horseman problem. Don't dally now, Mr Edward."

He strode back to the elevator entrance and stopped abruptly. So abruptly that Edward bumped into him, accidentally jabbing the chocolatier in the back.

Mr Wonka bit his lip.

"S-sorry!" Edward stammered.

"It's okay," said William in more of a high-pitch than usual. He wondered how easy it was to dry-clean blood.

Clasping his hand over the top of his cane, he lifted it to poke through the gap of the lift shaft. Once again the elevator was absent. Mr Wonka's brow furrowed. He took out a couple of coins from his pocket and dropped them down the shaft. He listened for impact; but they hit nothing and were lost.

"That's odd," he voiced. "Why would an Oompa Loompa use my elevator when he knows more efficient routes about the factory than I do?"

Edward had spotted something. He tapped William on the shoulder and pointed to something just above head height.

The Oompa Loompa technician was hanging by its legs from a dormant robotic arm. It was tied up with a rope of liquorice, only one hand free to flap incoherently.

"Rollicking raspberries!" cried Mr Wonka. "How'd you get up there?"

The little man waved his arm, drawing signals in the air. William tried to interpret them with some difficulty.

"Slow down, I can't read when you go too fast. Look…no? Uh, camel… no that can't be right…bright green squiggly thing? Oh no wait, bird, I got it, oh-." He broke off, puzzled.

"What's wrong?" Edward asked timidly.

"Nothin'," Mr Wonka replied with a frown. "He just keeps sayin' the Loompian word for 'duck'."

Edward heard the scrape of a slipper behind him. He knocked William down just as an iron bar swept a millimetre above his hat. It struck the side of a machine, sending a shower of sparks into the air.

The chocolatier rolled onto his feet before his attacker could take another swing and ran with Edward through the aisles of conveyor belts. Out of breath, they stopped to hide behind the cylindrical bulk of a great mixing vat.

"You can't hide from me," the sinister growl of Shooter's voice rang out. "I know how this story ends."

"Oh? How's that?" Wonka answered, hoping it wouldn't give him away.

"Like every good story ends, Willy, _perfectly_."

Mr Wonka and Edward trembled, trying to listen out for any kind of movement. All William could think to do was to keep stalling.

"You mean where everyone dies and you get away with it?" he called.

For a moment there was silence, then –

"Basically."

Mr Wonka swallowed.

"I was afraid of that," he said quietly.

A hush filled the room again.

The two hiding peered either side of the vat. Mort was nowhere to be seen. They looked at each other, whispering and shrugging, neither knowing that their hunter had stepped onto the slow moving spokes of the mixer above them.

Mort waited until he was inches away before thrashing the broken-off lever at his quarry. The iron rod slammed into the side of the vat in between Edward and Mr Wonka.

The latter screamed. They staggered across the aisle, backing themselves against the rotund belly of another machine. Mort dropped down from the vat and watched them emotionlessly. He was wearing a black Stetson spattered with dried chocolate.

"H-how did you find us?" the chocolatier stuttered.

"I discovered a particularly useful switch marked 'Mr Wonka' in that elevator of yours," said Rainey.

"Darn it. I knew there'd be a catch with that button some day."

"There ain't nowhere to run boys," the Mississippi persona drawled. "Once you and the others are gone, I'll be able to get my rest. I'll get all o' your damned voices outta my head."

William hooked his arm around Edward's and reached upwards. He grabbed a handle, yanked it down and slapped a button to his left. The handle flew back up, taking them with it. Soaring over the domed top of the machine, they slid down to the conveyor belt on the other side for a rapid escape.

Mr Rainey took this surprisingly well. He smashed the sharp end of the iron bar into the machine's innards, and twisted it once. The whole contraption died; the belt ground to a halt.

"Ew," Mr Wonka winced.

Mort watched his prey dart off through the factory on foot. He ripped the iron lever out by its rubber handle, flexed his jaws and moved after them.


	12. The Price Of A Snozzberry

A/N: Merry Christmas everyone. Oh and congratulations, you've now caught up with what I've written, which is only bad news in the sense that updates will probably take a lot longer to come to pass. Apologies! Enjoy this last of the predictable updates, but by all means not the last chapter. Thank you so much for your reviews, keep on doing so, especially if you haven't written one before. They're some of the best Xmas gifts ever .

* * *

Captain Sparrow got to his feet tentatively and sidestepped. There was a prolonged shout of surprise somewhere above him as Constable Crane suffered the same fate of Jack's shortcut. He slid, feet-first, to a halt where Jack had been standing moments before. 

"Nice of you to join us, Mr Crane," the pirate muttered.

Ichabod picked himself up, unaware of the nightmare behind him, and looked goggle-eyed at the room in which he had landed. It was as bright as a casino, as intricate as a space station and not at all like a chocolate factory. Machines of all sizes dotted the room like partner-less ballroom dancers, some spiralling to the ceiling, others squatting in the corners. A few were emitting gasps of steam as though they'd recently been in motion.

Crane noticed a selection of tools scattered about the floor. The workers had left in a hurry. Before he could hope to calculate why, Jack had grabbed the scruff of his neck and spun him around.

"Oh my -."

The empty space above the headless horseman's upright collar had Ichabod's full attention. He gulped and edged behind Jack.

"What should we do?" he hissed.

Sparrow narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. He motioned for the constable to stay put and approached the black rider.

"Begging your pardon, mate, but it occurs to me, being the civilised people that we are, that you might consider an act of negotiation?"

Jack gazed solemnly where he believed the horseman's eyes would have been.

"Mr Sparrow, I really don't think -," Ichabod began, but closed his mouth when he saw the horseman lessen his grip on the horse's mane.

The pirate turned to flash Crane a victorious smile as the armoured spirit dismounted. He spun on his heel, ready to discuss terms, but the answer was not one he expected.

The horseman's sword drove through Jack's stomach.

Ichabod should have known better, but he screamed anyway.

Jack sighed as he looked down at the hilt protruding from his midriff.

"I'll take that as a no then," he said.

He tried to remove the offending weapon but it only served to burn his fingers. Growling, he ripped his cutlass from its scabbard.

For an otherworldly being, the horseman was taken aback.

"Mr Crane," Jack roared. "Go find the others. I'll 'andle this!"

The constable had no time to protest. Jack thrashed the horseman's steed with the flat of his blade, causing it to shriek and bolt. Ichabod leapt onto the horse's back as it passed, snatched up the reins and galloped off through the Inventing Room.

Sparrow struck out at the horseman but an iron fist stayed his hand. The spirit of Sleepy Hollow cracked the knuckles of its free hand and tore the sword from Jack's belly.

The pirate gritted his teeth and rolled between the horseman's legs, giving him an extra moment to emphasise a silent 'Ow' he'd been saving.

The angry spirit turned. Their blades met.

* * *

The production zone of the Whipple Scrumptious Fudgemallow Delight had developed a rhythmic clanging as the unhinged writer stalked the rows of machines, striking them with the bar in his fist. 

William cowered at the back of one of the rumbling bodies of metal. He screwed his eyes up at every deafening bang, terrified that his heart was beating loud enough for the world to hear.

He had lost sight of Edward, for the boy had scarpered since their journey on the conveyor. Not even Mr Wonka's anxious cries had brought him back. And now William was alone, and not the kind of alone he was used to. Most kinds of alone didn't involve the ominous music he was experiencing in his head.

_Why does Mr Rainey want to kill me? _His mind raced.

"'Cause you know the truth, Willy," Mort's voice cut from somewhere nearby.

_Now that can't be good_, Wonka thought. _This guy can read minds!_

"Though I wish I were that talented, chocolate man, you might wanna learn how not to think out loud."

There was a plastic squeak as William slapped himself in the head.

"Shoot!" he hissed. "The truth about what anyway?" he called out warily. "That you're a bad person?"

Morton smiled deliciously. At least, the face of the man with this name did, for he knew the soul at his core was thoroughly caged. Shooter was all that mattered.

"I'm just doin' what's right, Willy," he simpered. "I can't let the spawn of my imagination go running about where they please. If I destroy you, fair game says I'll be free of this place. Might even get loose of this old do-gooder mister Rainey, but that's maybe a bit too hopeful, do you think?"

As he spoke, Mort had drawn closer to William's hiding place and at the last second he struck the side of the machine. Wonka cringed at the vibrations and made a break for escape, but Rainey tripped him up.

His cane flown from his grasp, William rolled to see Mort standing over him, the pointed end of the jagged lever raised to strike.

"Don't worry, Mr Wonka. I'm sure that in time, every bit of you will be gone and your death will be a mystery…even to me."

Mort brought the weapon down. William snapped his eyes shut.

There was a metallic screech.

Rainey traced the course of the blade that halted the lever's fall to the almost lupine gaze of Edward. The boy's eyes were crusted with an arctic ferocity.

Traditionally, the average 'bad guy' would have opted to buy time with a witty or snide quip at this point. However, Mort was anything but a stereotype. He'd learnt that a calm façade got away with murder.

He lifted the lever and stepped back, watching the scissors carefully.

"How does it feel, Eddie," Mort asked softly, "to be a killer like I am?"

Edward crossed his blades in defence and moved to block the chocolatier entirely from Rainey's view.

"I'm not a killer," he whispered with force.

Mort passed his own weapon from palm to palm, his eyes never leaving the boy's.

"I doubt the folk of jolly old Suburbia would agree. Or the man who fell from your mansion window after you'd impaled him with your bare…whatever you wanna call those things."

Mr Wonka rose cautiously, his brows creased with worry.

"What's he talkin' about, Mr Edward?"

"I – I don't know," the boy said, truthfully.

Mr Rainey crept up to Edward so he was almost nose-to-nose with him, scanning his familiar eyes. At this distance, it was like peering into a mirror.

"Well isn't that something?" Mort said eventually. "None of your stories have finished. Hell, Ed's here ain't even begun." He smiled cruelly. "If I don't kill you here, you got a tragic life left to lead is all I can say."

Tears started to form in the boy's eyes.

"Don't you take no notice of that old crook, Mr Edward," William said angrily. "Why he's nothin' but a rotten Snozzberry."

Mort drew back his arm for a sneak strike towards Edward's chest, but the less experienced boy was learning fast. A sharp blade tapped the top of Mr Rainey's inside leg.

William shuddered for the rest of gentleman-kind.

Rainey swore.


	13. Onward!

A/N: Yay it's snowing outside! A proper Tim Burton Christmas atmosphere and I have Mr Wonka at last on DvD. Not done badly considering I'd only seen the movie twice before :)

* * *

Balanced on the low rafters of the Inventing Room, the two swordsmen were still battling, although, the form tended to border on circus-play. Every time one dropped a sword, the other caught it and kept it until it was wrestled back by its owner.

Jack dodged a swipe at his stomach and blinked away the fear of being sliced in half. He stepped backwards but lost his footing. Windmilling frantically to stay upright, his cutlass slipped through his fingers.

The horseman leapt into midair to catch it, landing effortlessly on a bulk of machinery.

Sparrow steadied himself and smiled cheekily at the spirit.

"Thanks ever so much."

The horseman twirled the weapons over its head, an action that made Jack's face fall. Both blades flew towards the pirate and struck him in the chest. He toppled from the rafter, his back slamming onto the body of another of Wonka's contraptions.

"Stop stabbing 'oles in my suit!" he roared and slid to the ground.

His rival jumped down to his level. Jack strode towards it, having removed only his own weapon. He pointed irritably to the horseman's sword that jutted beneath his collarbone.

"If you please," he growled.

The headless horseman acknowledged and pulled out the blade.

Sparrow panted for breath.

"There's got to be another way to fight."

* * *

Constable Crane had planned on slowing the horse enough to glimpse the rooms that were passing him in a blur. Unfortunately, the equine spirit had planned on making its hijacker violently sick.

Ichabod flattened as the ceiling lowered, his hands linked at the front of the horse's neck. Resisting the urge to shut his eyes, he scanned the streams of colour for a figure in plum.

Daredevil came to a dead stop in an attempt to hurl his unwanted rider, then reared as high as he could. The constable finally lost his grip and fell, narrowly avoiding a trampling when the horse cantered back to find its master.

Exhausted, Ichabod found his feet for the umpteenth time that day. He was dizzy, he was hungry, and he knew he didn't have half the stamina that Jack did.

He was on the verge of letting himself collapse when an Oompa Loompa tottered out from another passageway. It stopped to look at the dishevelled constable, raised its eyebrows, and continued on its path.

"Wait!" Crane croaked. "You there, little…man!"

The Oompa Loompa turned and blinked at him.

"Oh good, you can understand me," Ichabod said, relieved. "I need to find Mr Wonka."

He received a blank stare.

"Your boss. Looks a bit like me, hair so high -." Crane mimed a curtain-style hairdo. "Wears a hat." He waved a hand over his head. "Smiles like this…?" The constable made an awkward grin that showed all of his teeth.

The Oompa Loompa couldn't hold its expression any longer and roared with laughter. It pointed to a passage to its right before scurrying off with a loud whooping noise.

Ichabod sniffed, hoping to restore some of his pride, and headed down the corridor. To his dismay, he saw it was a dead end, yet he was not about to dismiss the possibility of another secret door.

He marched along the suspiciously empty passage and smacked headfirst into an elevator.

* * *

The pirate and the horseman stared each other down, eye to collar, each wanting for the other to show a sign of weakness.

"What are you waiting for? Hit me," the captain challenged.

The horseman struck out and slammed a card on the table. Jack snatched it eagerly.

"Now," he said. "Are you sure you won't fold while you still can?"

The collar shook from side to side.

Jack's gold caps sparkled as he smiled. He laid out his hand.

"Royal flush."

His opponent bashed its fist on the tabletop.

"You put a whole new meaning into losing your 'ead, mate, you know that?" Sparrow stated. "You got to accept that the better man won as fair is fair."

The horseman pointed to the Ace poking out of Jack's braids.

"Ah," said the pirate as he removed it. "Perhaps fair was a bit overstated, but don't think I missed you slipping your unwanteds down your neck'ole."

The headless spirit folded its arms.

Jack sighed.

"Best of three?"


	14. Inner Workings

Clutching his nose, the eighteenth century detective had discovered how to open the elevator doors via an almost invisible panel embedded in the right hand section of the corridor. He now found himself looking puzzled at the lists of colourless buttons lining each wall.

Ichabod straightened up, took a deep breath and pressed a switch. The rush of the elevator knocked him off his feet as it lurched downwards. Shocked out of his wits, he clung to the handrail. His eyes clamped shut.

* * *

The scene amidst the aisles of conveyor belts appeared to be frozen. Edward and Mort stood like statues; the blade of the boy's right arm still in its precarious position, the writer hardly daring to breathe for the future of his children.

William picked up his cane quietly, keeping his distance from the standstill. Mort shot him a piercing glare.

"You're thinking you can change my mind," he said. "There ain't no reasoning with me."

For once Mr Wonka didn't shiver under his gaze. Instead, his eyes gleamed with mystery and a wan smile lit his face.

"I'm not questioning that," William replied. "Not questioning that at all _Mort_." He emphasised the 't' macabrely. "But I couldn't help but notice earlier that you seemed to know so much about all of us and yet – how about that? – we never thought to ask any more about _you_. Now why d'you suppose that is, huh?"

"I figured y'all turned yellow after I disproved your existences."

"Wrong!" William chimed. "Know why? 'Cause I already know your story."

"You're bluffing," said Mort.

Wonka carefully rested a hand on Edward's shoulder, nodding to assure him he could take control. The boy withdrew reluctantly; concerned that perhaps he should have forced Rainey to drop the ripped-up lever.

"Am I, Mr Rainey?" Wonka replied in a sinister tone. "Can you afford to risk that I might be the only one who can send you back home? You got a whole lotta other people you can get violent with there. Amy, for example."

Mort looked as though he'd been slapped in the face.

"What did you just say?"

"Oh I think you heard me loud and clear," said William. "I know all about your wife, Mr Morton. She treated you pretty bad, didn't she?"

Rainey's grip on the bar tightened.

"So tell me," Wonka whispered darkly. "Did ya kill her yet? Or is your story only half way along?"

"Shut up!" Mort yelled, lashing out at his antagonist.

The chocolatier's cane blocked the attack. Edward trembled.

"Neither one of us want you to stay here, Mr Rainey," said William. "Sooner you back off, you can scoot off back to your little hut with your itty bitty computer. Who knows, maybe you'll even change your mind about killing the girl. That is if she's still among the living?"

Rainey took a few paces back.

"Won't make no difference. Amy will deserve what she gets," he growled.

William and Edward were watching Mort's weapon arm. It was shaking uncontrollably. Mort gripped hold of the arm as though it were possessed.

"Looks like someone disagrees with ya," said Mr Wonka, moving forwards as the writer stumbled back.

Rainey's rogue arm shook off the restraining hand and struck himself a blow in the chest. The writer gasped in shock and pain. Unyielding, the arm holding the iron bar once again swung inwards. It beat him backwards against the rim of a production line.

"What's happening to him?" Edward asked, his eyes wide.

"I think the _real _Mr Rainey wants a turn at the wheel," William answered, rapt. "All that talk about his wife must've woken him. Must be an awful thing to find half of your mind wants to kill everyone you ever knew."

Mort Rainey clubbed himself in the head and toppled onto the moving conveyor belt, utterly senseless. The chocolatier and the scissor-handed boy watched with a horrific fascination as the robotic arms plunged from the ceiling to perform. A few mechanical whirls saw Mort wrapped head to toe in shining silver foil.

Wonka grimaced and darted to the control box at the head of the belt.

"Oh dear," he winced. "Well that's not good at all."

The lever to stop the machine had been torn out. Out of the many scores of wrapping lines, Mort had managed to fall onto the very one he'd sabotaged for a weapon.

William cringed as the Whipple Scrumptious Mort Rainey Delight was smothered in a label and tipped into a waiting box. Hurriedly, he took Edward's arm and walked back towards the elevator shaft.

"Don't fret now, Mr Edward," he said as he untied the Oompa Loompa technician and helped him down. "I'm sure Mr Rainey will have enough air so long as he doesn't come around and start panicking." The predictable giggle escaped his lips.

"But Mr Wonka -," Edward started.

"Huh?"

"How do we get back?"

The boy pointed to the vacant lift space.

William turned to the ex-hostage Oompa Loompa.

"What did the blonde guy do to the elevator?" he asked.

The little man mimed wrenching the air apart, pointed downwards, then fanned out his palms as he made an exploding sound.

Wonka folded his arms.

"Well, now that's an exaggeration," he scoffed. "Sure it probably fell to the bottom but my elevators _don't _shatter." Wonka smirked at Edward's expression. "What? You didn't think I only built one, did ya? Mr Rainey might've thought he knew a thing or two about me, but not even he's smart enough to think I'd have two elevators running on the same track." He chuckled and pressed the caller button beside the shaft.

Edward smiled meekly. The Oompa Loompa next to him would have given up a week's supply of cocoa beans to know what the boy was really thinking.

A moment later, the second Great Glass Elevator dropped into place. The door slid open with a 'ding'.

Ichabod peered up at them from a corner, knees tucked into his chest.

"Oh bravo Mr Crane," William exclaimed. "You know how to work an elevator!"

"A w-what?" the constable stammered, white as a sheet. Too preoccupied with the thought of being sick, he was not about to discuss the idea that elevators where he came from had visible pulley systems and certainly did not travel in more than two directions.

Mr Wonka, Edward and the Oompa Loompa bustled into the lift. The chocolatier opened a flap near the doors, plucked out a clear glass telephone and flipped a switch. He raised the mouthpiece to speak.

"Heya Doris, cancel that shipment to Tokyo, would ya…?"


	15. Picture Perfect

The makeshift poker table overturned, spilling the pyramid of pink peppermints it had been designed to hold. Shaking with fury, the headless horseman drew his sword and cleaved through the table. Then he kicked it aside.

"I know _exactly _what you mean," said Jack calmly. "There's just no fun in a battle where both sides win, is there?"

Daredevil trotted up alongside the pirate and snorted. Jack stroked the stallion's nose.

"'cept for the poker," he added.

The horseman pointed his sword tip at Jack.

"And the rummy, but you almost 'ad me."

The blade nicked him on the cheek.

"Ow! All right, all right. You would 'ave won Snap too. Your reflexes are a bit rusty is all."

He patted the soft pelt of Daredevil's shoulder before once again glancing down the length of the sword in his face.

"Must we keep on doing this?" Sparrow sighed. "Or are you resolved on this quest of mindless destruction?"

A few seconds passed where the horseman froze then, against all odds, he stepped back and sheathed his weapon. Jack was dumbfounded.

"What? That's it?"

The horseman shrugged.

"Why the change of 'eart?"

The response was a finger tapped on the left arm. Jack cottoned on to the game.

"One word," he said.

The spirit held a hand to one side of the opening at his neck.

"Sounds like…"

The hand now wafted in front of the collar from side to side.

"Wave? Smoke? Oh wait, is that where your nose is s'posed to be? Smell?"

The horseman gave him a thumbs up, then proceeded to form the letter 'p' with his fingers. Jack frowned.

"Sounds like smell but begins with 'p'? No? It has a 'p' in it? Ah!" His eyes twinkled knowingly. "You were under a spell?"

The spirit clapped and pointed at the pirate despite the fact no one else was playing.

"Right," said Sparrow. "So oo's been pulling your strings? Why've they stopped?"

The horseman shrugged again and snapped an invisible twig with his fists.

"Spell's broken?"

A hand wiggled side-to-side: 'Not quite'.

"Lost influence?"

Another thumbs up.

Jack beamed, pleased with his sharp thinking.

"Wonderful," he said. "So what 'appened to the, erm -." He grunted a few times and began his own charades game of pointing to his head and neck.

The horseman's shoulders sagged. If a cranially deficient creature could cry, it would have.

* * *

William put down the phone and turned to the occupants of the elevator, back to his sprightly self once more.

"The, uh, package is being sent up to the Chocolate Room," he said, mainly to Edward. "Administration said they'd punch in a couple of air holes so everything's just peachy."

Ichabod, who was still huddled on the floor, was bewildered. He remained in the dark about the gift-wrapped serial killer.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"Nothin'," Wonka lied.

Edward intervened.

"Mr Rainey tried to kill us."

"Yeah but it's all sorted now," William added, impatiently. "We can deal with him later. No need to frazzle Mr Crane about it."

"Mr Rainey?" cried Ichabod, as Wonka rolled his eyes. "Good heavens! We left him right under the Hessian's nose!"

All heads turned to the constable.

"You know what that thing is?" Mr Wonka said incredulously.

"Well, I, uh -."

"Doggone it, now I remember." William snapped his fingers. "Mr Rainey mentioned a headless ghost when he was givin' us all that major freak-out."

"That what?"

"Oh. When he said you weren't real, and then you went on and let us all forget about it goshdarn the consequences. How could you, Mr Crane?"

Ichabod made a series of baffled facial expressions before he replied.

"If I'm honest, Mr Wonka, I didn't quite believe in that creature myself until now. I thought it was just someone fooling about in a costume. Or at least, the one that pursued me before I got here wasn't half as believable as the one that came out of that machine."

A sense of urgency finally caught up with the chocolatier.

"Where's the pirate?" he wondered.

"Ah, that's why I needed to find you," mumbled Crane. "We ran into the horseman. Mr Sparrow sent me to get help while he, er -."

"While he battles for his life?" William finished shrewdly.

Ichabod flushed.

"You don't understand! Mr Sparrow's not…well he's not exactly human at the present time, he-."

"Don't bum me out with your mumbling, sir. We all know ya don't like the guy, so there's really no need to explain yourself," Wonka spat, drowning out the exasperated constable. "What room were they in?"

Crane started to stammer again. He could feel the perspiration on his face as the purple glare of Mr Wonka's eyes seared into his. He couldn't remember what the room was called. It wasn't like he'd come through the front door.

"It…it had a lot of machinery in it…er, blue floor?" he tried weakly. "Low metal rafters, a round tub with a selection of floating coloured balls in…possibly?"

"Okay then, the Inventing Room it is. Are ya gonna get up off the floor or what?"

Ichabod gripped a hand on the rail above his head but stayed put. He cast a glance to Edward who was hooking his scissors behind the rail in preparation, and then to the Oompa Loompa who didn't seem at all vexed.

"I'm quite comfortable down here, thank you," Crane gulped.

Mr Wonka shrugged and pressed the button marked 'Inventing Room'. The glass doors closed and the elevator cannoned off into the void.


	16. Petty Minds, Circumlocutory Talk

A/N: Thank you so, so much for all of your reviews! Please keep on doing so. Erm, there are still several loose end plotholes going on that I'm aware of so please refrain from shouting at me for not explaining things just yet! All should be explained by at least the end of the fanfic and if it isn't then you have permission to graciously inform me and I'll guiltily edit something to solve the problem. I'm a bit worried that this chappie isn't as funny as some previous ones as my other fanfics may have an effect. To those lovely reviewers who make suggestions for there to be a female addition to the characters here, thank you, but am afraid I have no value for them in this particular fic. If I do a sequel to this, guaranteed there shall be at least one female character .

* * *

"Right," Jack said at last. "I think I've got it this time. You were an 'essian mercenary with an unhealthy taste for lopping off people's 'eads. You died an' got yer own 'ead cut off and were…what was the word you used? Ah, _lounging _happily in your grave. Then someone…stole…your 'ead, brought you back from Hell, and made you 'ave to go around nabbing off with other people's 'eads, just so's it would look like you 'ad some legendary grudge. That about right?"

Exhausted from the half hour of gesticulating his death-story at the not-so-vocally-challenged pirate, the horseman lay flat out on his back. He raised a weak hand and stuck up his thumb in accord.

Captain Sparrow let out a 'pfft' noise before remarking, "Good luck with that one, mate. Seems like there's far too many 'eads in there for my fancy. You'll 'ave a hard affair tryin' to find someone with the brains to solve that little conundrum."

Just then the travellers from the elevator arrived, Constable Crane – still plastered head to toe in dried chocolate – trying vainly to head the line. His supposed cowardice had not won him any favours. Once again his usually astute powers of observation failed him as he saw the horseman lying prone at Jack's feet.

"I must commend you Mr Sparrow," he exclaimed, agog. "You've single-handedly defeated a monster driven with an age of brutal vengeance."

The horseman sat up.

"Not exactly," said Jack.

Ichabod's blood ran cold. William and Edward stood either side of him with expressions of bewilderment.

"Explain," Crane demanded, barely able to take his eyes off the headless spirit as it got up quite casually.

"Spell, Mr Crane," the pirate replied. The pause from his listeners made him further, "'e was under a spell."

"What spell?"

Jack spent the next few minutes describing everything he'd learnt from his mime conversation with the horseman, causing the constable to feel just that little bit more disappointed with himself.

"I'm sure I would have arrived at that conclusion given enough time," Ichabod grumbled.

"Irrefutably, Mr Crane," said Jack with a smirk. "Right then, are we all clear? Does anyone 'ave any more questions?"

"Yes." Crane scowled at the pirate. "Pray tell me in what textbook does it say that the English language is to be punctuated at every opportunity with the word 'savvy'? Come to think of it, is that even a _real _word?"

Jack smiled over gritted teeth.

"Allow me to repeat. Does anyone have any more questions with regards to our previously hostile acquaintance?"

"Weren't Hessians German?" Mr Wonka asked.

"What?"

"I thought the Hessian mercenaries were German. How is it he can understand you?"

The pirate pulled a face of consideration and turned to the horseman. The response could only be described as 'jazz hands'.

"Magic, apparently."

"That's a lame excuse," William said, but he shrugged and wandered off amongst his machines.

The rest of them enjoyed an awkward silence. Edward chose to investigate the enormous steel tank nearby, through the windows of which he had seen some curiously colourful globes. Ichabod remained opposite Jack and his new 'friend', his frown almost as rigid as his stance.

"Too much salt in your grog, Bodders?" Sparrow grinned.

"You're quite certain he won't try to take our heads, are you?" Crane said sternly.

"He doesn't want our 'eads. 'e never did. If someone's been controlling 'im back where you came from, mark my words, they 'aven't a clue where 'e's gone so they can't bloody well send 'im after us, can they?"

Ichabod folded his arms.

"Fine. Then why did he pursue us in the first place?"

"Wouldn't you be a bit temperamental waking up inside a metal box and seeing a load of strangely-dressed people gawping like you're from the circus? The poor man's got 'is 'ead in one world and 'is body in another and you expect 'im to think straight!"

_No, I expect him to think like a murderous Hessian_, Ichabod thought. _Just as well he left his head behind. Of course! Without a brain, what could tell the horseman's body to harm anyone? Then again, its motivation had to be coming from somewhere…_

Edward stopped poking the floating balls and looked over at the speakers.

"So he's not going to kill us?" he asked tonelessly.

"'e doesn't want to kill any of us," Jack insisted.

The horseman tapped him on the shoulder and pointed at the constable.

"Oh, except you Mr Crane," Sparrow added.

"What?" Ichabod squeaked. "Why me?"

"He thinks you're a pansy."

Mr Wonka grasped a handful of honey-coloured sweets from the funnel of a squat machine and slipped them into his coat pocket. He moved back to the small gathering in the centre of the room, two of them shaking with laughter. He cleared his throat for attention.

"When you're done messin' with my Everlasting Gobstoppers, Mr Edward sir, could ya join us for a sec?"

The boy cast his eyes down guiltily and trudged into the circle.

"I think we've had near enough excitement for today, gentlemen," William continued. "If you'll all truck on down and follow me, we can get fixin' that darn thingamajigger of mine and get you all home."

In the quiet moment that followed, someone's stomach gurgled.

Wonka, who had been heading back towards the elevator, spun on his heel and searched for the culprit. No one owned up. However, Jack sniggered at Ichabod's back.

"Okay, I give. We can eat first, 'kay?"

The room breathed a sigh of relief.

"Mr Wonka, I could kiss you," Jack declared.

"Please don't," said the chocolatier, and hurried out of the room.


	17. Order Cancellation

A/N: So sorry for the lateness. This one's a little longer to make up for the fact I've had deadlines and far too much partying occupying my time! Not to worry either, Mr Wonka's not even started fixing that darn machine of his so you've still got several more chapters to look forward to or berate at your leisure. DFQ xxx

* * *

As William made his way back to his glass transportation, his Oompa Loompa technician in tow, Ichabod called after him.

"Er, Mr Wonka, you surely don't expect us _all _to fit in there, do you? How on earth are we supposed to fit a horse in the elevator?"

"My dear, charming constable. There is no object in the world I could not fit in my elevator if the feeling takes me."

"So we _are _bringing the animal in there?"

"Of course not!" William snapped as he stepped inside the lift. "Can you imagine how unsanitary that would be? Ew. The horseman can make his way back the way he came in."

The character in question took this opportunity to give the chocolatier a two-fingered gesture. Then he stomped off to fetch his steed.

Edward waddled into the elevator and took up his position of hooking his blades around the handrail. The Oompa Loompa tugged at Mr Wonka's trouser leg.

"What?" said William, his attention caught. "Oh yeah. Go tell Ammunitions to put themselves on standby, 'kay? Well done today. You might wanna inform people about the incident with the other elevator too. I'll send you a Pamphlet 40 later, 'kay?"

The little man's eyes bulged. He squeaked excitedly and bolted out of the elevator, almost tripping the approaching constable.

"Pamphlet 40?" Edward inquired.

Wonka nodded.

"It's sorta my Loompian medal for bravery. That, and he gets a cocoa bean _this big_." He held out his arms to about the width of the elevator itself.

Ichabod was just about to enter when William's cane barred across the doorway. He looked up at the chocolatier quizzically.

"But you, Mr Crane sir," Wonka continued, "don't hold my support when it comes down to courage. I suggest you hitch a ride with your headless pal."

Jack grinned. He walked up and slapped the speechless constable roughly on the back.

"That is a wonderful suggestion, Mr Wonka," he sniggered. "Chin up, Bodders. He won't bite."

Crane glared at the pirate.

"You don't even know what the elevator is or what it does," he hissed.

"True," Jack replied. "But seeing as you're not allowed in it, I'm very much inclined. Excuse me."

Sparrow ducked under the cane barrier into the elevator and spun to wave at the fuming constable.

"You say it's unsanitary to put a horse in there, and yet you allow _him _to get in?" Ichabod spluttered, jabbing a finger towards Jack.

"See you in the Chocolate Room, sir," William said firmly.

Jack was in a fit of giggles.

"Mr Sparrow, I demand that you tell them!" Crane shouted.

"Tell them what?" the pirate asked innocently.

"Why I left you alone with the horseman! You're not human!"

Jack gasped in mock pain.

"Why constable, I know we've 'ad our spats but there's no need for name-calling."

The elevator doors closed and at once the glass muffled what could quite possibly have been a stream of very unprofessional curses coming from Ichabod's mouth. All inside the elevator watched as the horseman galloped up behind the hapless detective, scooped him up with ease and deposited him onto the back of the horse.

Daredevil reared in style. The terrified Constable Crane wrapped his arms around the headless horseman's waist and shut his eyes. Less than a moment later they had dashed from the room.

"So," said Jack, the stupid grin still pasting his face. "What does this thing do then?"

William casually rested a gloved hand on the rail with a quiet squeak.

"Hold on to your hats."

He pressed the button marked 'Chocolate Room'.

"I miss my 'at," the pirate mumbled to no one in particular.

The lift's momentum threw him to the floor.

* * *

At last the elevator ceased its rollercoaster-meets-pinball journey. The doors opened and the pirate fell out on his face.

"Wasn't that neat?" Mr Wonka exclaimed.

Jack groaned and staggered upright.

"I preferred the boat."

"Huh. I would've thought with a name like yours you'd take to flying like a, well, like a – bird."

"As always your wit astounds me, Mr Wonka," Sparrow said amiably. "Jester fit for a queen, you are."

William pouted.

"Okay I admit she still spins like a Tardis but she gets me around."

Seeing that the popular culture reference was lost on someone a couple of centuries behind, Wonka coughed and led the way. There came the sound of rushing chocolate up ahead.

The party emerged from behind the vast waterfall of the Chocolate Room. They clambered across the toffee rocks and onto the sugar meadow to find the other half of their group waiting.

The headless spirit was trying to convince his horse to stop eating the grass whilst the trembling constable was sitting alongside an enormous cardboard box, listening to its contents. Upon the side was stamped: 'Tokyo'.

"Oh thank heavens," cried Mr Wonka. "It's arrived. Mr Edward sir, if you wouldn't mind? Be very careful."

Happy to help, Edward gently sliced the lid of the box, permitting the chocolatier to open it and tip the thing over. A heap of Wonka bars scattered out along with a man-sized, wriggling parcel. Mr Wonka peeled open the wrapper about the struggling mass's top to reveal the face of Mr Rainey.

"What in the name of (censored obscenity) happened?" Mort asked, gasping air. His voice was no longer that of the slow Mississippian. He looked around at the nervous faces. "Great. Still hallucinating it seems."

Jack grumbled.

"Don't start that again. Unless you can 'allucinate something large and preferably heavy I can 'it you with."

"Fine," Mort sighed. He looked across at his body bound up in silver foil. "Would you guys-?"

Everyone shouted: "No!"

Ichabod moved to pick up something he'd seen in the pile of Wonka bars. It was Mort's black ten-gallon, still speckled with chocolate.

"What's this?"

"Oh, that's Mr Rainey's hat," William replied. "It musta landed in the river with him when he arrived, then I guess he fished it out later."

Crane whined, "Will I ever get to do any detective work around here?"

Mort frowned at the item in constable's hands.

"That's not my hat," he said.

"Are you sure?" Ichabod asked, for want of something better to say.

"I'm damn sure that's not my hat!" Mr Rainey growled with a little too much anger.

"Will you all shut up about hats?" Jack bellowed bitterly.

Mr Wonka sighed. Of course, he knew it wasn't _Mort_'s hat, for Mr Rainey only wore it when the Shooter personality was in control. He took the hat from Ichabod and tossed it aside.

"People! I promised we'd eat, so go on. Scoot! Eat! There's candy bars here, heck there's a whole room at your disposal, so get to it and we can sooner get workin' on how to get you all home."

His audience gave a series of blank stares, which were mostly replaced with childish smiles. Those able to move their limbs dashed off to gather food supplies.

Mort, however, squinted through his grubby spectacles at the chocolatier from his position on the floor.

"Don't I get to eat anything?" he questioned shrewdly.

William tore off the wrappers from a Whipple Scrumptious Fudgemallow Delight bar and shoved the slab of chocolate into the writer's mouth. That done, he strode off in search of his own feast.


	18. Under the Surface

Extra note: Please, please if you have questions or comments and would like a reply, make it a signed review or leave your mail address.

As always thank you for suggestions, but I draw the line at the Michael Jackson allusions. Thank you though, you're all entitled to your opinions and I'm grateful but I like to keep Mr Wonka separate from his similarities from the singer as I don't believe they're meant to be connected. If you watch the documentaries on CATCF, no one mentions him at all. Mr Depp says he was inspired by poor game-show hosts. The likeness can be a bit unsettling though I admit.

Oh yeah, another thank you. I hit the 100 review mark thanks to you wonderful people!

Yes I'm going to shut up now so you can read the darn thing. After this disclaimer: I do not own anything I've stolen from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory or any other thing you happen to have heard of before. Yes I can mix and match items from either film...because I can...because I am author and Creator. I am Goddess. Yeah. Here's the long awaited eighteenth chapter...

* * *

Five figures had made a seated circle once again on the sugar-candy meadow of the Chocolate Room. A great pile of edible treats had been collected in the centre – each of the men with their arms free laying into what took their fancy.

Captain Sparrow sat cross-legged with the thin bole of a candy-stripe tree across his lap, using his cutlass to slice off bite-sized strips. His hands were once again garnished with rings for, during his search for supplies, the Oompa thief had found much amusement in slipping them back onto the unsuspecting pirate's fingers as easily as they'd been stolen.

"Mr Wonka, you're one wit short of a genius," he proclaimed.

The chocolatier looked up at the pirate from over the confectionary heap.

"What makes you say I'm not?"

"Well, aside from the reason we're all in this place at this particular moment in time, you really need to 'ave a rethink about that haircut of yours, mate."

William took on a sulky expression and turned his attention to a daisy-like flower sprouting nearby. He promptly ripped it up at the roots.

Constable Crane had chosen to perch on the tough husk of a jelly pumpkin. He was sipping eloquently out of a cup and saucer that looked to all extents like the head of a daffodil.

"While we're on the subject of how we got here," he mused, "any further thoughts on how to fix the machine?"

Wonka nodded.

"It's all relatively simple, for me anyways. I'll get some soldering gadgets up here when we're done eatin'. You can help me get started."

"Aye. If something's going to explode, at least it'll only 'appen to old Bodders," Jack added.

Ichabod paused, his mock floral cup halfway to his lips.

"Mr Sparrow."

"Yes, Mr Crane?"

"Shut up."

"Right you are, Mr Crane."

Jack saluted and flashed an impertinent grin. He proceeded to carve another piece of candy cane and stuff it into his mouth. He frowned for a second or two but no one noticed.

"What's he doing?" Ichabod asked Mr Wonka. He was referring to Edward who appeared to be cutting at thin air with his scissors. Oddly he was meeting some resistance, the blades sometimes bouncing off…nothing.

"Invisible chocolate pineapple," William replied.

Mr Wonka had bitten off the petals of the daisy he'd extracted, revealing the head of a chocolate-coated spoon. He was now using this to scoop out the insides of another jelly pumpkin.

"Dare I even ask?" Crane sighed.

William swallowed down a spoonful of jam before explaining, "I saw Mr Edward trip over one when we were gathering. I said he could have it. Assuming he could find it again, that is."

"Why would you make an invisible pineapple?" Mort sneered, still trussed up in silver foil.

"Self-preservation obviously," William scoffed. "Every plant's gotta have somethin' to protect it."

"What's the point? Do you see any predators here?"

"No comment to your latter question since you started talkin' in Swahili. What's the point, my dear psychotic sir? My point is why aren't any of you asking _how _I made them invisible in the first place, huh?"

"Because you wouldn't tell us?" Jack suggested.

"Precisely!" Wonka beamed.

Ichabod grunted.

"It's preposterous. It's clear to me that Mr Wonka has been putting fancies into the boy's head. This may be a different world here but the basic laws of physics still apply, therefore such items cannot exist. You're just playing us, Mr Wonka. Invisible pineapples? Oh, sorry, invisible _chocolate _pineapples. It's really just a load of piffle, isn't it?"

Edward whispered something in the pirate's ear. Jack nodded. He tapped at the grass in front of the boy and cupped his hands around a section of air. Then he pulled away, holding up an imagined segment of fruit.

The constable eyed the space between Jack's hands with scorn.

"Don't think for a moment I'm going to fall for it, Mr Sparrow."

The pirate grinned devilishly.

"Your funeral," he said, and hurled the unseen object straight at Mr Crane.

Ichabod flinched instinctively, the daffodil china dropping from his hands. Something smacked him hard between the eyes and tipped him off his pumpkin stool. Edward laughed for the first time in his life. He was still laughing even when Jack had stopped to check he hadn't concussed the hapless lawman. Luckily, Crane got back up, his face dripping with pineapple juice and seemed if anything more cheerful.

"It's like the childhood I never had in here," he thought aloud.

Childhood. That word struck the famous chord of silence in the room, the one that hinted that perhaps the factory should invest in tumbleweed. A Mexican wave of shudders passed around most of the circle.

"If you'll pardon, have I said something wrong?" Ichabod asked of the crestfallen crowd.

William coughed.

"Well I for one am sure glad I'm not a kid any more. P-p-parents always telling you how you should do things. My d-da-." He broke off, grinding his teeth.

"Dad?" everyone prompted.

"That's the one. He didn't want me to be what I am. Didn't approve of chocolatiering at all, no sir. So I've not talked to him in a long time."

Jack shook his head sympathetically.

"A father should always accept 'is son no matter what 'e turns out as. Do as you will, mate, so long as you keep honour in the family."

"What would you know about honour?" Crane wondered, a little less cold in tone than expected.

"I knows a lot about honour, Mr Crane. You might see me as some sly nautical thief driven to a craze from too long under the sun. Not that I'd be denying it, but some things are of astronomical importance. Mutiny, for example, now that's one of the few crimes my forgiving 'eart can't handle. When it comes to my own family, well…" He paused, eyes cast down. "I'll keep that one to myself."

At this point Jack shot a suspicious glance at Mr Rainey, daring the man who claimed to know all of their stories to reveal something. Mort clicked on to the meaning of the pirate's glare.

"I'll add nothing, Sparrow," he said. "Your sequel's not out yet."

Jack raised his eyebrows.

"Sequel? You mean I survive the Isla de Muerta?" he squeaked hopefully.

Mort smirked. He could have fun with this.

"Maybe. Or maybe you don't and this is a prologue."

"You said it was a sequel."

"Perhaps I was misinformed."

Sparrow shook his cutlass at the captive writer but lowered it when Mr Wonka barged into the conflict.

"What was up with your childhood, Mr Edward?" he asked loudly.

The malformed creation withdrew his blades from the invisible pineapple innards and summoned the courage to answer.

"I wasn't ever a child. I was made like this, but I guess I started off emotionally as one. The Professor, I could call him a father, was good to me but he was…he was very old."

Edward's eyes had turned glassy at this point. Jack placed a tentative, rag-dressed hand on the boy's shoulder to console him.

"Has _everyone _here had a bad start?" Ichabod wondered. It wasn't looking good for him in the multiverse.

"Actually I had quite a happy upbringing," said Mort.

Mr Wonka didn't even bother to unwrap the next chocolate bar he shoved between the writer's teeth.

Captain Sparrow reached over to the mound of sweets and took a toffee apple.

"Seein' as our young stripling 'ere was the most hard done by, he can 'ave a small token of consolation," he announced, offering the apple to Edward.

"Hold your horses, Mr Sparrow, sir. Mr Crane hasn't told us his story yet," said William. He looked to the constable. "Well, what are ya waiting for? Spill those jumpin' beans already."

Ichabod swallowed and avoided eye contact.

"There's really not much to say," he mumbled. "Nothing to say at all."

Jack recommenced donating the toffee-coated fruit to Edward but the chocolatier's glare stayed his hand. Everyone was watching the constable, who appeared to be lost in a daze. Ichabod stared at his open hand, keeping it concealed from the others in fear of them seeing the vision upon it. Tiny red puncture marks dotted the surface of his palm.

"Well?" the pirate pressed. The others were too curious to scold him for his impatience.

Ichabod muttered something too quiet to catch.

"Mr Crane?"

"My father killed my mother," Crane repeated, so loudly this time he was almost shouting.

In the stunned hush that followed, Jack hung his head like the rest of them and tossed the toffee apple across the circle to Ichabod's waiting hand. The constable winced from some psychological pain and bit into it half-heartedly.

Wonka coughed after a moment or two and smiled brightly. He picked himself up, having devoured his edible spoon and dusted his gloves.

"Okay then, whenever you're ready Mr Crane, and anyone else who can do more help than harm, let's mosey over to my machine and get her up and runnin'. We'll have to work double time now."

"Why double time?" Ichabod asked with a frown.

The chocolatier nodded over at the figure over the hill. The headless horseman was stamping around in exasperation, trying to stop Daredevil from grazing on the addictive sugar-grass, or _swudge _as Mr Wonka personally called it. Of course, Daredevil wasn't listening.

"Because I don't think your friend over there will be overjoyed at the idea of a pink, fluffy cloud for a mount," William informed. "The effect this grass has on animals is surprisingly decorative. Enough of the dallying, people, to work!"


	19. Technical Difficulties

A/N: I am so so sorry. University work has piled on top of me. Thank you all for being so patient. I will not give up on this story but it will take time for me to get it out in little pieces. Like this one. Yay!

* * *

Not that it was possible to tell on the inside of Mr Wonka's spectacular factory but by now it was early evening. The once dishevelled pile of mechanical clutter was beginning to look more like a machine in progress. Oompa Loompas wandered back and forth carrying boxes of nuts, bolts, springs and strange contrivances that seemed to have the sole purpose of flashing blue for no explicable reason.

Constable Crane fumbled inexpertly with a device we commonly know as the screwdriver – something he'd not been acquainted with up until today. As a rule, practical gadgets of all shapes and sizes fascinated Ichabod but it didn't stop him cringing at the thought of something like this in the hands of an enraged Mr Rainey. It also did nothing to prevent his clumsiness.

"Elegantly done, Mr Crane," Jack smirked as another screw slipped from the constable's fingers.

Ichabod paused, sighed, and turned his flatteringly chocolate-smeared face to the pirate. Jack was fanning smoke away from a dazed Edward.

"I'm _trying _to think of a way in which you could be less useful," said Crane.

"You should watch that lip of yours, mate. I'll 'ave you know I'm busy tendin' to the wounded 'ere."

"Can't say I didn't warn him," William called from the other side of the machine. "I told ya not to go pokin' around in all the wires and such with hands like yours, Mr Edward. Didn't anyone ever warn ya about not stickin' metal things in plug sockets?"

Edward coughed meekly. Sparks crackled in his hair.

"Apparently not," Jack answered for him.

"He was only trying to help," said Ichabod. "Which is more than I can say for Mr Sparrow."

"See these?" asked the pirate, holding up his dirty, roguish palms. "These are a sailor's 'ands. You can't go ruining 'em with something as slight as science."

Ichabod repositioned the screw and twisted it into place.

"It can't do you much harm opposed to the usual work of your hands. Pick enough pockets and you'll probably be lucky enough to have them chopped off." He moved to pick up a section of the machine's outer shell and struggled to lock it into place.

Jack got up and shoved the casing roughly until it clicked. His mood had shifted to annoyance.

"Do we 'ave a problem, Mr Crane?"

By the look of it, Ichabod wasn't planning on backing down either.

"Assuming you are aware we're both trapped in a world we know very little about, I'd say that constitutes as a problem, wouldn't you?"

Sparrow stepped up to Crane with a threatening air.

"You well know what I mean, constable. Are we treading on ground that leads to spilt blood? Now me, I don't care for fighting, but can I really trust to turn my back on you? Or shall we sort this out right 'ere?"

He placed a hand on the constable's shoulder with a crushing grip. Ichabod grimaced but more from disgust than pain.

Mort swore under his breath, breaking the tension.

"Would you two just get a damn room?"

The near combatants broke away. Ichabod turned to walk behind the machine, deciding to ask further instruction from the chocolatier.

"Eunuch," Jack muttered.

Inside the constable's mind was a big metaphor. The metaphor contained a herd of camels. At that moment, every single camel was loaded with one straw too many. Ichabod spun, pistol whipped from his belt and aimed shakily at Jack.

"I am NOT a -."

The whole room flooded suddenly with flashing red lights. A siren blared.

"Er…what's going on?" the pirate asked loudly, because someone had to.

Mr Wonka stepped out from behind his invention, paying little attention to the fact Ichabod was still holding up a gun.

"Beats me. Doesn't sound good though, does it?"

He laughed nervously before shrieking out a tongue-waggled cry. A group of Oompa Loompas bustled up from another manhole hidden in the sugar grass. They squeaked at William and made a display of childishly rude noises, which he repeated a few times as if to clarify.

"Whangdoodles!" he cried.

"What?" spluttered Crane, lowering his pistol. "What's happened?"

"Why don't people listen?" Wonka grumbled. "Whangdoodles, I said, darnit!"

Jack scratched his bandanna.

"I'm with Bodders on that one," he said. "What?"

Mr Wonka could barely stand still for worrying.

"When Mr Rainey sabotaged my elevator it crashed on a ledge near my Fudge Mountain. It just so happens there was a collapsed mining tunnel through to Loompaland around there. The elevator shifted the landslide and now the sweet smell of my factory's attracted half the Whangdoodles in the country. They're invading! Oh merciful heavens, we gotta do something before they eat all my workers!"

Jack drew his cutlass.

"Well I dunno what in hell they are but I says we go and find out." He grinned.

"I thought you didn't like fighting," said Ichabod.

"Aye, but perhaps it'll be more fun than standing around 'ere shouting at you. Although I do find it comparatively amusing."

Edward mumbled something through somewhat singed lips.

"What?" Wonka wondered.

"Sounded like 'ammunitions'," Crane interpreted.

William snapped his fingers.

"Bingo! By golly that boy's got some grey matter. I clean forgot I put my squad on standby. All right folks, let's get to battle stations, heehee!"

Mr Wonka hurried off towards the chocolate waterfall.

"Where are we going?" Ichabod called after him.

"To my elevator of course. Hurry up!"

They began to follow. Jack halted.

"What about Mister Shiny?" he asked, indicating the foil-wrapped Mort.

"Let him out," bellowed the chocolatier. "We're gonna need all the weapons we can get."

Wordlessly, the pirate and the constable slit the writer loose from his bonds and walked after Edward and Mort. They exchanged a glance of unresolved rivalry but held their tongues.

As the distinguished characters all vanished over the toffee rockeries, the Chocolate Room slipped into quietude once more and all that could be heard was the happy chomping of a grazing horse.


	20. War of the Whangdoodles

A/N: Woohoo, I got another chappie done. Hope you like it. Bit more action rather than wit in this one. Please, please review if you haven't already, it makes me feel happy and pressures me to write more, hehe!

* * *

To describe the scene that was taking place in the vast abyss of the factory's core would be close to breaching the copyright of George Lucas. The elevator tracks crisscrossed the void like endless, glittering harp strings. Amongst these, throughout a descent of miles was a furious and colourful war. Fireworks and numerous other spectacular explosives peppered the blackness as strange winged insects zipped about in an effort to avoid them, buzzing dangerously.

The Great Glass Elevator helter-skeltered through the chaos, speeding missiles ricocheting off its tough shell like dried peas. It screeched to a halt alongside a large platform suspended against one of the walls of the elevator shaft.

Its occupants staggered out, even Mr Wonka feeling the nausea.

"Really gotta get that fixed," he whimpered.

The whole platform shuddered violently, causing everyone to stumble.

"Mr Wonka! What is all this?" Crane shouted over the raging din.

Along the immense walkway, dozens of Oompa Loompas were manning what looked to be giant, silver cannons. Drivers sat atop each one of these contraptions to manoeuvre it whilst the others snatched up great spheres from the racks behind. It was like a bowling alley. Dotted around the chasm were many other platforms with the same guns, each spouting out huge gobstoppers that exploded with full force against the Whangdoodles. Unfortunately, the flying pests had discovered a way of banding together and could sometimes smack an oncoming ball back the way it had come.

"They're supposed to be the managers for my firework squad in preparation for the tour," William yelled. "I figure they're the perfect solution to a Whangdoodle attack."

At that moment one of the creatures in question soared over the platform, its greenish black torso just missing their heads. It bulled towards one of the Oompa gunners and scooped the poor man up with its hairy legs before dropping him into the open air of the shaft.

"Except when they do that," Wonka added with a squeak.

Luckily the tumbling shape of the Oompa Loompa was blotted out by the white canopy of his parachute as it burst open and carried him to safety. The companions breathed a sigh of relief.

"What can we do to help?" Ichabod asked of the chocolatier.

Just then another Whangdoodle, about the size of a boar, rocketed across the dais and headed straight for them. Acting quickly, Mort snatched the cane out of Mr Wonka's hand and swung out. The Whangdoodle screamed as it was struck and skidded across the floor in a limp heap.

The others gawped at him.

"I think Mr Rainey just answered your question, Bodders," said Jack.

Mort turned to them, shocked at his own strength. He gave Mr Wonka a guilty look and offered the cane back.

"Sorry…" he began.

"Keep a hold of it, sir," William replied to everyone's surprise. "You'll make better use of it. I got an idea what I can do. You there! Move over!"

Mr Wonka rushed up to the gun squad that had recently replaced its driver and took over the seat, much to the little man's relief. The chocolatier reached into a compartment on the side of the cannon and pulled out a pair of black goggles, which he donned with haste.

"Load 'er up, fellas!"

The Oompa Loompas saluted and stuffed a series of large purple-and-white-striped cannon balls into the gun's chamber. William gripped the steering arms and whirled it around, searching for a target. He slammed his gloved palm onto the button in the centre of the control panel, instantly jolting in his seat as a missile shot out from the barrel.

The Whangdoodle never saw it coming. Wonka's projectile of Exploding Candy (extra strong) clapped it full in the carapace. In a shower of purple sparks, the monster plummeted.

"Bull's-eye!" Mr Wonka cheered.

Angry at their losses, a cluster of the creatures grouped and dove in from the side, forcing many of the Oompa Loompas to throw themselves flat. Humming murderously, they shot towards the human crowd.

Jack drew his cutlass and stood his ground; Mort was ready with the chocolatier's cane; Edward put up his blades, but it was the shot from Ichabod's pistol that caused them to charge.

The pirate and the boy met with a sickening squelch that splattered them with a purple-blue goo. The writer and the constable, however, were knocked down.

Mort beat at an enraged insect as it savaged his dressing gown until Jack plunged the point of his sword into its back, very nearly impaling Mr Rainey in so doing.

Ichabod's opponent had taken hold of his collar and was dragging him towards the platform edge. His hands trembled, struggling to reload his pistol. He could see Edward rushing after him, unable to keep up with the pace of the Whangdoodle's flight.

The constable kicked at the ground with his feet, trying to stand. He snapped his pistol chamber shut and grabbed at the insect's flailing legs. Having taken hold, he scrabbled upright, heels still skidding on the rapidly running-out ground. With his other hand, he raised the gun and aimed for the creature's belly.

He fired.

As the platform ended, the Whangdoodle shrieked and let go. It tumbled into the chasm, leaving Crane to teeter on the brink. Edward bolted towards him and did the only thing he could think of. He stabbed.

From the distance, Jack and Mort gasped.

Ichabod's jaw dropped. He looked, aghast, at Edward's terrified face and then to the scissor blade sticking out of both sides of his shoulder.

"I- I think, Mr Edward…if you could be so kind as to pull me _back _onto the platform before the fabric rips, I'd be m-much obliged."

The boy gave a jubilant smile and stepped back, towing the constable to safety. By some miracle, the blade had hooked through the material of his coat and missed so much as grazing his skin.

Jack came running over, ducking a stray firework in his path. When he saw that the constable was unharmed, he clapped a hand to his heart in a show of reprieve.

"You, Mr Crane, are one lucky little sea-weevil."

Ichabod gasped in a few needed breaths before responding, "Why the concern, Mr Sparrow? Not ten minutes ago you were all up for an uncivilised brawl."

The pirate patted him belittlingly.

"Ah, you forget mate. Remember Mr Rainey's bit of philosophy? One of us dies; we might all die on account of time tearing up or summink. So you see, perhaps I'm just concerned about me onesies."

"Uh guys?" Mr Wonka shouted from the centre of the platform. "Not to be a total pain or anything, but can you quit with the mumbling and GET THE HELL OVER HERE?"

The foul insects were bombarding the platform with returned missiles. Every time one bowled their way, they slammed against them like cricket bats and had served them back at the gunners before the ammo could explode.

Dodging the whistling shots, the companions scrambled over to the rows of gunmen, jerking out of reach of any dive-bombing fiends. They hacked at the Whangdoodles hovering around the chocolatier, trying to give him leeway to aim.

He targeted another monster and blasted a new cannonball from the gun. But the Whangdoodle was ready. It flew straight at the deadly candy and head-butted it directly back into the barrel of the cannon.

"Uh oh."

Mr Wonka bellowed for everyone to take cover and hurled himself off the driving seat. The Oompa Loompa squad ran squealing as the cannon blew up in a pillar of smoke.

The chocolatier picked himself up, coughing in the smog. Fuming, he tore off his goggles and glared at the offending arthropod with his vibrant purple eyes.

"All right, that does it. I didn't wanna have to do this but you've goshdarn gone and pushed me to it," he growled, wagging a finger at the Whangdoodle. He spun and pointed to the nearest Oompa Loompa. "You! Fetch me my WV Spray!"

The little man trembled, then nodded and scampered away.

"How's that?" said Jack who, like the rest, had no clue what was happening.

Mr Wonka gave him an impish grin.

"We're gonna Minus them right in their little cans!"


	21. Aerial Subtraction

A/N: I don't own the rights to Lord of the Rings: Return of the King. I do, however, possess the soundtrack. Hot, huh? Here's another longish action-packed one for ya.

* * *

"We're going to what?" Constable Crane asked moments before the red-faced Oompa Loompa was dashing back towards them with a squirtable, plastic bottle. "And what's that?"

Mr Wonka took the bottle and saluted his loyal worker.

"This, my annoyingly inquisitive friend, is WonkaVite spray," William replied, beaming. "A while back I invented a formula to reverse the process of ageing. Normally I put it in pills 'cause it's easier to track the dosage, but I find it's always good to be prepared. Ya never know when some experiment's gonna come back and bite you in the – well, it's just not conducive to a pleasant work environment."

Mort frowned. Apparently he hadn't taken the leisure time to read Roald Dahl's sequel to that book about the little boy who won a chocolate factory.

"How's making those creatures younger gonna help matters?" he said, raising his voice over the buzzing and explosions that continued above.

Wonka tutted.

"Seriously, would ya use your brain? It's not about makin' them younger. It's about makin' them _too_ young…and you can stop right there, Mr Sparrow, don't think I can't see you creepin' up on me." William glanced shrewdly at the pirate who was frozen in a mid-pilfering stance. "Any Oompa Loompa who thought they'd try a little of this stuff for their own gain wound up in diapers. That's nappies to you."

Jack clasped his hands ruefully to the hilt of his cutlass before enquiring, "'Ow do you mean _too young_? How young can your tonic make 'em?"

"All the way."

"Eh?"

"Watch," Mr Wonka instructed. He strode out into the centre of the platform near the charred debris of the cannon he'd operated. Either side of him, Oompa Loompa squads were still bustling with the remaining guns, loading them and blasting out explosives.

William walked over to one of the racks, picked up one of the large candy cannonballs and pushed it into the back of a gun's chamber. Holding out the spray bottle, he squirted WonkaVite on the surface of the ball. Then he shut the hatch and nodded to the driver to lock a target.

The contaminated candy ball burst out from the barrel and careered towards its prey. The unfortunate Whangdoodle vainly attempted to swerve away, but too late. A blast of orange fire painted part of the void and fizzled out.

"It's gone!" Jack cried out in such a voice of astonishment that he instantly felt it necessary to clear his throat and act less interested.

"What do you mean _gone_? What's gone?" said Crane, blinking at the spots in his vision.

"The Wingdoddle thing. Whangdoodle, that's the one."

"But that's just _imp-_."

"What you have all just witnessed," Wonka interrupted, arms spread in showman style. "Is the wonders of WonkaVite. That poor critter we just shot is now hundreds of miles below us in a place known as _Minusland_."

Ichabod was rolling his eyes, mouthing the word 'drivel', but seeing as the others' gaze was fixated, William continued.

"See, we just made the Whangdoodle so terribly young that he went backwards, and of course if you reverse in numerical terms, you become a _Minus_. You appear in the only place that can predict the origins of things that are to come or that once were. If you don't grab someone outta there like greased lightnin', those dastardly Gnoolies will nab the Minus and it'll be gone forever."

Mr Wonka realised he'd lost the pirate at basic mathematics and so concluded, "In other words, we killed it." It wasn't as though these people needed to know about the awful, invisible monsters living at the base of his factory.

"Great," Jack exclaimed. "Let's blast the bijesus out of 'em."

The chocolatier rushed across the platform, spraying the racks of cannonballs with the lethal potion.

"Okie dokie," he said at last. "I've called off the loading squads, seein' how I'm the only one now who can put the ammo in the machines." He waggled his gloved fingers at the others, making the plastic squeak. "My Ammunitions crew don't have mitts. But now we don't need to worry about the Whangdoodles hittin' the explosives back since one itty bit of contact with them and _whoosh _– off to Minusland."

He giggled.

"What about the other side?" Mr Rainey asked.

"What?"

"Wouldn't it be better to have the squads on both sides firing this stuff?" the writer suggested. "Might kill them off quicker."

William pondered this for a moment. He clapped his hands decisively.

"Capital idea, Mr Morton, sir. Someone's gonna have to get over to the guns on the other platform. Better take the spray with them before I have to handle the ones I did already."

Ichabod raised a hand in question.

"Er, how is anyone supposed to get over there?" he wondered, eyeing the unfathomable chasm.

"Duh!" Wonka scoffed. "Elevator?"

"Oh really?" the constable replied with much the same mockery. He made a sweeping gesture towards the glass lift to bring it to attention. The world's tiniest but most epic battle was occurring between two young Oompa Loompas and a swarm of Whangdoodles just beyond the closed doors.

William spun on his heel to see a cluster of his workers, armed with a full orchestral suite, bashing out a quick rendition of 'Cirith Ungol'.

"Hush it! I'm tryin' to think over here!"

The musicians broke off with an array of colourfully awkward notes before traipsing off scene.

"We're gonna have to come up with some other way of gettin' over there," Mr Wonka finished.

"Way ahead of you, Mr Wonka," Jack called.

The pirate was balanced precariously on the raised ledge at the front of the platform. He glanced calculatively at the elevator cable passing over his head and unbuckled his weapon belt. Slinging it over the cable, he took hold of both ends of the strap and tested his weight.

"Come on, Bodders. Time to prove you're not such a milksop after all."

"You must be insane," Ichabod blurted. "I'm not crossing _that_."

"I can't swing over _and _carry the potion."

"Couldn't you find someone more apt?" whined the constable.

"Mr Wonka's got to man the cannons 'ere, Ed can't grip well enough and Mr Rainey, no offence, I just don't trust you not to go berserk. So nab the bottle, Crane, and let's go."

Pride once again at stake, Ichabod took out his chocolate-stained handkerchief and wrapped it around the neck of the bottle for fear of residue. He took a deep breath, climbed up beside Jack and – Mort smirking – wrapped his arms around the pirate's chest.

Jack pushed off over the abyss, the cable sagging under the weight of both men. They slid, narrowly avoiding collisions with several passing Whangdoodles, their faces lit by deafeningly close fireworks. At last they reached the other side and bowled in amongst a crowd of Mr Wonka's employees.

Captain Sparrow got to his feet, immediately ducking an insect air raid, and bustled over to the back of the nearest cannon. He beckoned to the constable who was unsteady from the journey.

"Get a move on, constable. I'll put these thingies in the hatch and you spray 'em nice an' proper. Savvy?"

No sooner had their gunner begun firing, the other platform joined in pelting the Whangdoodle army. The void filled with bursts of dazzling colour, the winged creatures popping out of existence all over. After at least an hour of loading artillery and slashing at stray martyr bugs, a cheer rang out from the opposite side of the elevator shaft.

Jack ran to the head of the platform.

"We did it, Bodders! Look, they're on the retreat!"

Sure enough, the sorry few insects were vanishing into the depths in search of their jungle home.

However, there's always one little sod there to ruin the occasion. This particular sod soared into the range of an Oompa Loompa gunman on the far side of the pirate and constable's platform. It waited until the last possible moment before smashing itself into a speeding candy-ball. Although this killed the creature instantly, the strategy worked. The non-contaminated but still dangerous explosive hurtled back to the platform.

"Jack! Look out!"

Constable Crane threw himself forwards, pushing Sparrow out of the missile's line.

The candy-ball detonated.


	22. Afterhol and Alcomath

A/N: Argh! For the third and final time I'm re-editing this chapter. First time was because I posted and then sat up all night thinking "oh my god, it did nothing I intended". So I put in some extra conversation to further the character relations. No it's not slash, I would have warned you. If it seems a bit cosy, just think next time you see a bunch of drunken lads who are good mates ;) Apologies to those of you who already read and reviewed. It's not changed all that much, hopefully improved. Second time I edited was because I didn't click 'save changes' and so this author note and the separating lines didn't appear. Damn it! Anyways, hope you guys enjoy. DFQ xxx

* * *

It seemed like an eternity for the group on the other side of the void to rush into the elevator and cross to the assaulted platform. Out of the smoke, Oompa Loompas fled from all directions in fits of coughing.

"Sparrow? Crane?" Mort shouted.

"On the bright side," Mr Wonka muttered anxiously whilst fanning the fog, "they've gotta be okay, or we'd not be here."

"That's on the assumption that the universe can't cope with a dimensional paradox," said the writer.

William scowled and snatched his cane back from Mr Rainey.

Edward, who had walked blindly into the mist without further thought, called from somewhere ahead.

"Here!"

Mort and Mr Wonka hurried towards the voice, only just managing to stop themselves from tripping over two figures on the floor.

Jack Sparrow, his face and hands dusted with soot was crouched beside the still form of the constable. Ash had smothered Ichabod's clothes and skin; shell fragments had scored thin cuts on his palms where he'd tried to shield himself.

"Well there's a surprise," Mort grunted. "He's fainted again."

"He didn't faint," the pirate growled. "The fool jumped in the way of that bloody explosion. It was aimed for me."

"Mr Crane saved you?" William asked, astonished.

"Aye, and that's exactly why he's a fool. 'E knew I was immortal, Devil knows why he pushed me out the way."

"You're _immortal_?" Wonka and Rainey cried.

Jack sighed.

"'E did try to tell you earlier – ow!" he said, breaking off as the chocolatier's cane cracked him in the ribs.

"Is he all right?" Edward asked of the constable.

"Son, do I look like a doctor?" the pirate snapped.

Mr Wonka dipped his hand into one of his pockets and pulled out a compact mirror. He knelt down, flipped it open and held the glass above Ichabod's mouth. A faint trace of steam frosted the mirror.

"He's breathing," said William. "Let's get him to the elevator."

Mort and Jack lifted the unconscious Crane between them and moved back to the edge of the platform once the smoke had fully cleared.

"Buck up, Sparrow," the writer uttered, seeing Jack had fallen unusually quiet. "You said it yourself, wasn't your problem. He just chose a stupid time to learn bravery."

"Little whelp called me my proper name when 'e did it, too," Jack said ruefully. He coughed as Mort raised his eyebrow and added with a more masculine air, "Nice moves back there with the mosquito things. O'course you don't get points for being half a lunatic."

"Same back at you. For a romanticised version of the scum of the ocean you know how to handle yourself."

The hint of a male bonding session was short-lived as both the writer and the pirate walked face first into the elevator door.

* * *

Some hours later, the sounds of inebriated merriment were bouncing around the walls of the Chocolate Room. Whilst Mr Wonka finished off the last repairs to his machine, the rest of them lounged about in their preferred circle on the hill of sugar grass beside the river, having discovered the delights of the chocolatier's infamous Butterscotch, Buttergin and his most prized and recent Butterrum.

"I _love _this man," Jack was slurring, his arm around a weary and woken Ichabod. "That's to say I love 'im almost as much as me ship and not in fact like a woman."

"-ing women!" Mort hiccupped before far-from-soberly burying his face in the chocolate soil.

The rarity of Crane's laughter burst out as a girlish giggle. Clearly he'd overdone it on the scotch too.

"I must say, this stuff beggars belief," he said, swigging at his liquor. "It's magnificent, it's saccharine, it's -."

"Frothy," Jack finished.

"Indeed!"

Edward was smiling at the drunkards as he sipped from a mug of hot chocolate with the aid of a long liquorice straw. For very little reason at all he was wearing Mort's (sorry, Shooter's) black hat, which he had found abandoned on the hillside. Although he was not old enough to enjoy the adult beverages – the limit in his hometown being the age of twenty-one – he was still fascinated at the effects it was having on his companions.

"You know, Bodders," said Sparrow, jabbing the constable in the shoulder with one of his least grubby fingers. "I really thought you was a goner back there. Seein' you as you are is like watchin' a man struck down with a cannonball get up and walk away as 'appy as Larry."

"I agree. I was rather fortunate that it missed me."

"_Missed _you? It blew up in your face!"

"Well it wasn't a _real _explosive. It wasn't designedto _kill _anyone. It only served to rattle my insides. I'm thankful it wasn't one of the ones we sprayed with Mr Wonka's potion."

"You're not wrong, mate," the pirate concurred. "But what possessed you to take the fall for someone like me? You _can't stand _me, and you knew full well I 'ave this curse."

Ichabod puffed out his chest haughtily.

"Mr Sparrow, though you may irk me to the very limits of my being on numerous occasions, I'm not one to pass judgement on someone in the face of danger." He hesitated over taking another gulp of his brew and furthered, "What's more, you said yourself you weren't sure of the extent of your invuln'r- inv'r – your immunity. How was I to know you wouldn't be blown into a cloud of tiny piratical pieces?"

"Fair game," said the grinning sea captain. "We're square."

Ichabod clinked his tankard with Jack's. Almost immediately after, the pirate's stomach growled.

"My word, are you still hungry?" the constable asked, struggling to remain sitting upright.

The pirate winced.

"Been 'ungry all the time. No matter 'ow much I eat I still feel I could eat a horse."

Daredevil snorted from over the hill. Jack hurriedly made amends.

"Apologies. It must be the curse. Doomed to starve till I gets this bloody trinket back where it belongs is my guess."

Ichabod nodded lazily and pushed away from Jack, not realising he had been the pirate's only support. Seeing that the decoratively attired man of the ocean didn't look too unfazed at falling flat on his back, the constable addressed the matter of the journey home.

"Yes, I suppose we should all be getting back really. Mr Wonka, how's the machine coming along?"

The chocolatier emerged from behind the humming contraption; Oompa Loompas swarming around it like an anthill.

"My workers are running a few tests and all seems to be in order again but, hold on, don't get overexcited. It's only fixed for what it did before. I don't know about you guys but I don't plan on bringing any more of you …me…back. The process is gonna have to be reversed, but that shouldn't be too hard." William took his hat off and rummaged inside. "All we need is the- oh."

He frowned and put the hat back on.

"What's wrong?" said Ichabod.

"I coulda sworn I put it in there," Wonka was muttering.

By now everyone was looking at him. Even Jack had managed to summon enough spatial awareness to sit up.

"What?" they asked.

"Nothin'. I've just…uh…misplaced the lollipop. I'm sure it won't be far away…"

"Can't we just use another one?" Crane asked.

Mr Wonka shook his head.

His guests groaned.

"We're never going to get home."


	23. Finishing Touches

A/N: Ew. Exposition scenes are so boring to write so that's why I took an inexcusably long time. I promise the next chapter will be more fun! Yes, yes, there is at least another!

* * *

"When did you last 'ave it?" Captain Sparrow asked, trying to suppress a terribly impolite belch.

"I put it in my hat, I'm certain of it," said Mr Wonka.

"Did you take it off, or did it ever fall off?" Ichabod tipped.

The recognisable gleam in the chocolatier's eyes happened once more. He exchanged glances with Edward who also looked as though he were sorting through his memory.

"Got it!" William cried, snapping his fingers, or rather – squeaking them. "The Oompa Loompa chute."

"Shoot what?" Jack mumbled.

Mr Wonka hurried over to the plug in the grass that he and the boy had used to escape the now docile horseman.

"We better search the whole tunnel, case it got stuck on the way down, 'kay?" he grinned, looking expectantly at the others.

* * *

Some time later the revellers had sobered enough to think, speak and even walk. Jack, Mort and Ichabod were to be found forming a chain between the Chocolate Room and the chamber below, having had no luck in locating the piece of candy.

"I've 'eard of people seein' pink elephants when they're drunk but this just takes the biscuit," the pirate shouted from the bottom of the line.

He screwed up his face as a sheep started to lick his nose.

"Can ya see anything yet, Mr Sparrow?" Mr Wonka called.

"Nah…oh wait, 'ang on. There's something stuck on one of the muttons. Can't reach it."

Sure enough, one of the pink sheep amongst the herd sported a pretty blue blob in the wool of its flank.

"I don't 'ave anything to entice it over with. Ideas wouldn't go amiss, and quickly if you don't mind. My stomach's reigning 'avoc."

Before William could give a warning, Ichabod had reached up from his position at the head of the chain, grabbed a clump of sugar grass and dropped it down the chute. Jack opened his eyes after being coated with a shower of green candy blades. All the sheep had turned to stare at him. There was something oddly crazed about their suddenly different mood.

"Not…good…" Sparrow said, swallowing.

The others cringed at the sound of a stampede. After a few moments of hearing the pirate yelp incomprehensibly, the words "PULL ME UP!" echoed through the tunnel. The line heaved back up and brought with it a ruffled but unharmed Jack, lollipop in hand.

"I do congratulate you, Mr Sparrow, well done!" Wonka commended, instantly snatching the trophy from Jack's up-stretched arm.

"You're welcome," Jack smirked in distaste. "But pray tell a man, couldn't you have sent a bunch of your little worker people to save us all the trouble?"

"Nonsense," said William, but didn't explain why.

All eyes followed the chocolatier as he wandered back towards his machine, peeling off strands of wool from the candy in his hands.

"What happens now?" asked Mort.

"Presumably I just have to reverse the process with which my invention brought you here," Mr Wonka replied. "Reversal is straightforward, only…I'm gonna need a vague idea of what happened to have a clue how to send ya back. Then there's the anomaly of the horseman. He doesn't even look like me…at least, I assume he doesn't…not that I can tell without his head being there an' all. Anyways, he can't look like me 'cause he comes from Mr Crane's world, so -." He broke off at the collection of blank stares he was getting. "Um, yeah, I need to know how he got here too."

The companions crowded around the softly humming machine, each lost in their own worlds of thought whether they had an idea or were merely playing the part of almost innocent bystanders.

"Wait," Ichabod said eventually. "Could my pistol have something to do with the horseman's appearance? It wasn't until after Mr Sparrow mistakenly threw it at the machine that the Hessian was brought here."

"It does seem likely," William agreed, "but I can't see how such an item managed to start the machine up. Unless…aha!"

"What?"

"Some of the inner workings of my machine had to have practically biological parts. See, I needed it to be both intuitive and sensitive in order to make contact across the multiverse. It's possible I designed it with the ability to detect emotions or even react individually to whatever is placed in the chamber. When the horseman got here, only the gun was in the chamber. The lollipop wasn't there to bring back more than one possibility and since the gun is not a living entity, I can only assume the machine searched for the closest connection to the object in its chamber."

Ichabod frowned.

"Pardon my doubt but I don't quite see what my pistol has got to do with the horseman. I haven't faced him before and the weapon has only ever been mine, so where is the link?"

"Fear."

Everyone turned to Jack, surprise etched on their faces.

"Would ya mind explaining, sir?" Mr Wonka asked.

"O'course," said the pirate. "You're saying that this machine reads emotions, so would it not make sense that the closest connection to Mr Crane's pistol would be the particular emotion associated with said object? What I'm saying is that the fear our constable here has for the horseman is of a similar measure to that which he holds for his own weapon. Savvy?"

William cheered immensely.

"So my machine read the emotion of fear off the gun and then nabbed the closest thing that scared Mr Crane at the time of his arrival? Neat-o."

"Now hold on a moment, I'm not frightened of my _own _pistol," Ichabod scoffed.

Before anyone could stop him, Sparrow jumped forward and pulled the constable's gun from its holster. He rested the barrel on the tip of Crane's nose.

"I'm sorry, Bodders, I think the chocolate maker's deafness is rubbing off on me. What was it you were saying?"

"I-I'm n-not afraid o-of my-."

Constable Crane broke off, unable to hide the fact his legs were trembling.

"Don't you worry, mate." Jack smiled as he dropped his arm and offered the weapon back. "You're braver'n you think. Any law-abiding man who doesn't feel faint when confronted with an ungainly-looking gunman is probably already flat on 'is back. That's where my appearances can be deceiving. I never miss the mark."

Mr Wonka snatched the gun from the pirate's open palm and moved to place it in the small compartment in the side of the machine. His fingers danced across a panel of flashing buttons then he tugged on a lever that looked suspiciously like the top of a pogo stick. The metal arms on the top of the contraption began to rise and fall, sending their dinner-plate discs into their spinning routine – now in the opposite direction.

The chocolatier turned to his baffled guests with his hands clasped.

"All right, people. Let's bring that horseman on over here pronto and we'll get sending you all home!"


	24. One Down, Game to Go

A/N: Argh, still have so much work. So, so sorry as per usual. But on the bright side, it's still taking its time to finish so more enjoyment ahoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own that amusing show commentated wonderfully by Craig Charles. I also don't own some more references from that other Wonka movie.

* * *

It took various approaches to sign language to explain to the headless horseman what was happening. Mr Wonka had left it mostly up to the pirate, since the only way of describing time travel without words that he could think of involved modern day transport and that little ticking thing some people strap to their wrists – of which the Hessian hadn't the remotest idea of either.

As for moving the immortal Daredevil from his swudge haven, it took three of them. Ichabod tugged on the reins, Mort enticing the stubborn stallion with a handful of the grass, and Edward lightly tapping its flanks with a blade.

Once they had all gathered in front of the renewed machine, Mr Wonka struck the square purple button to open the flap.

"Mr Crane, if you could just put your gun in there…thank you." He closed the little compartment with the weapon inside. "Hot, we're all set for our first departure! Would the horseman like to say his farewells and then we can get him back where he belongs?"

The headless mercenary saluted the group and then worked his way around, firstly ruffling Edward's hair with a large gauntlet. Jack received a hearty and manly hug. When it was his turn, Ichabod offered his hand to the horseman.

Everyone held their breath as the Hessian stood still facing the constable, making no move. Lightning quick, the horseman grabbed Crane's arm and pulled him into a startled embrace. All were in hysterics as the winded constable was released and the horseman now shook hands with Mort.

An Everlasting Gobstopper dropped out of the armoured warrior's sleeve. William's eyes narrowed. The horseman moved towards the machine but Mr Wonka barred the way and coughed disapprovingly.

"Guys. Search him, please."

"Are you mad?" Rainey gasped.

Mr Wonka raised an eyebrow. The others looked at the writer in surprise.

"Okay, so maybe I wasn't the _best _choice of person to ask that," Mort said reflectively.

Moments later, the horseman was suspended upside down and being shaken forcefully by the rest. A small pile of assorted candies littered the grass and still more wrapped goods were raining from the spirit's neck-hole.

"Blimey," exclaimed Sparrow. "'E's taken to thieving like a flame in a haystack."

"_You _told him to take all that?" Mr Wonka rounded on Jack.

"I didn't openly suggest it…besides he's outdone himself. If it weren't for the 'ead problem, e'd make a better pirate than I do."

"Yes, well, you're not exactly a very_ good _pirate, are you Jack?" Ichabod smirked.

"Just so long as you remember me, Bodders. That's what counts."

"Right, I think that's all of it," the chocolatier sighed. "Put him down."

The companions set the Hessian on his feet again and waved him into the chamber along with his reluctant steed. Conveniently the chamber had been rebuilt so it could be walked into rather than scrambling underneath the machine's belly, reasoning that the space and angle would have been near impossible for a horse to cope with.

Mr Wonka tapped a few panel buttons and pushed a lever upwards, apparently setting the destination as best he could.

"That should scramble the codes up so they get read backwards. Like I said, reversal's the easy part."

The horseman used his last few seconds to click his fingers in Crane's direction. Having got the constable's attention, he proceeded to point and draw a finger under his throat followed by a mocking little wave.

Ichabod trembled. Jack was seeing the funny side as usual.

As the chamber door closed, Ichabod mumbled to the chortling pirate, "Do you suppose he'll keep his sense of humour after he's gone?"

"Not a chance, mate. Spell'll grab 'old of him soon as he gets back to your world," said Jack.

The constable sighed.

"Ah well, at least now I know he'll only come after me if I get on the wrong side of his master."

"Aye."

William had been listening, all the while his fingers drumming anxiously against one of his pockets. His gaze remained on the machine as it rattled and flashed. Finally the train whistle at the top blew and the chamber door slid aside.

The chamber was empty.

"Did it work?" Mort wondered.

Mr Wonka made one of his famous nervous laughs.

"How can you tell he got to the right place?" asked Crane.

"You can't," William answered.

"Then how -?"

Mr Wonka had barely drawn breath before Jack slapped a hand over the constable's mouth and interrupted, "Let me save Mr Wonka from 'aving to berate you for mumbling and we'll pretend you just said we can all 'ope for the best, eh?"

"So, are we going home or what?" said Mort, grinning.

The chocolatier scanned his guests thoughtfully.

"Well Mr Sparrow and Mr Edward look ready but you two are in severe need of a HsawAknow," he replied, pointing at the writer and the constable.

"Do I want to know what that is?" Ichabod winced.

"Oh no…" Mort began.

William ululated loudly across the hill, an Oompa Loompa rushing immediately to take his request. He whispered in the little man's ear.

"What's going on?" Crane muttered to Mort.

"WonkaWash. I saw it in an adaptation of his book. He makes you sit on an old beat-up steamwagon and near drowns you in foam."

"Almost right, Mr Rainey," the chocolatier said as his employee rushed off cackling. "However, I don't care for steamrollers or any great hulking, boring and goshdarn snail-paced antique. My WonkaWash, or HsawAknow if you say it in reverse, is a little more like…let me see…ya ever heard of Takeshi's Castle?"

"Uh, no?"

"Boy are you in for a surprise."

Mr Wonka placed his finger and thumb in his mouth and let out a piercing whistle. Engines growled and burst out into a rippling roar. Two gangs of Oompa Loompas tore up the hill on quadbikes, each man kitted with what looked like a great fire extinguisher on his back. Whilst the rest of them rode around in circles, two of the workers – one on the red team, one from the blue – ground to a halt in front of Rainey and Crane. They jumped off their bikes and gestured eagerly to the seats.

"Rules are simple, guys. Try not to get soaked before your opponents," William informed them with a mischievous smile. "Oh and by the way, if either one of you isn't covered in froth at the end, I'll set both teams on ya, 'kay?"

Mort and Ichabod gulped as they were handed their foam pistols and clambered onto their bikes. The Oompa Loompas on foot strapped the tanks to the new contestants, jabbering excitedly.

Mr Rainey gripped one of the handles and twisted it back slightly. He was rewarded with a growl from the engine. His eyes lit up behind his spectacles and he grinned at Crane.

"How about it, constable? Think you can cope with a bit of fun invading your morbid aura?"

Ichabod touched a handle carefully and flinched. He looked over at the writer and felt himself caught up in one of man's most irritating dilemmas. He heard the sound of Jack's voice in his memory implying he was some sort of garden flower. Constable Crane bared his teeth for a split second and sealed them behind a proud lip. He gave his rival a dangerous smile.

"Do your worst."


	25. Breaking from the Dream

A/N: Here's the next one at last. Serious lack of time or will at the moment. Thank you again to all of you who have reviewed. The amount of reviews I keep getting, however, that ask for me to bring in new characters tells me that I need to reiterate that alas I only wish to write about the ones Ihave chosenthough I am highly flattered that people don't seem to worry that I would destroy their favourite characters! There was a longer explanation before about why I have chosen these specific Depp charries, but I suppose all you need to know is - sorry, it's because I'm not. But I do hope you enjoy this anyway, even if these darling buds of genius are not your favourite character.

Oh and a sincere apology to Timmie as I watched Sleepy Hollow last night and indeed you are right. He is from 1799, not 1899 as I thought and is of course an eighteenth century constable. I shall make amends when I can be bothered to re-edit the two chapters in whichI referred to him as a nineeteenth.

DFQ xxx

* * *

For all the good his sudden waves of confidence would do him, Constable Ichabod Crane didn't have a clue how to drive a bike. (1)The room watched him as he gingerly placed his hands on both handlebars and eyed them as if he were dabbling in alien technology. Mimicking the writer's actions, he twisted the handlebars very gently. His breath was snatched from him as the bike shot off out of control, taking him with it.

The companions who weren't participating observed from a safe distance with spectator binoculars – the fruit of a plant that had recently sprung up upon realising it was needed. It had only taken Mr Wonka a moment to explain that Jack was looking through the wrong end of his and to adjust Edward, since he wasn't even facing in the right direction.

Mort sniggered and drove slowly into the crowd of Oompa Loompas as they dodged the constable's high-speed zigzag. Luckily it wasn't long before Ichabod calmed down and worked out the controls for himself – much to Mr Rainey's dismay.

Ichabod snatched up his water pistol and steered towards Mort. The writer fumbled vainly with his own game weapon and bike. The constable aimed – but was intercepted by a group of Mort's Oompa Loompa teammates and was forced to turn around under a foamy onslaught.

Mort wasn't laughing for long. The opposing red team of the constable's rushed in from the side.

"Oh f-."

Mr Wonka clapped a hand over Edward's binoculars during Mr Rainey's outburst. Jack, however, was chortling away at the sight of the writer being soaked by a dozen little bikers.

Soon the whole hill was in chaos. Humans and Oompa Loompas zipped around, covered in a substance not unlike bubble bath. Mort and Ichabod pursued one another back and forth, circling, jetting the soda liquid in each other's ears and eyes in true anti-sportsmanship.

Eventually the battle was called off when Mr Rainey fell off his bike, which he insisted was only because he had the disadvantage of wearing a dressing gown. Ichabod helped the writer back onto his quad bike as the two Oompa Loompas who had not fought wheeled what looked like a giant fan onto the pitch.

Jack lowered his binoculars.

"What _is _that thing?" he wondered.

"HsawAknow Reird!" Mr Wonka cried, grinning.

"And in the King's English?"

"WonkaWash Drier!"

Mort frowned over at the soapy form of Ichabod beside him.

"Did he just say _drier_?"

The soap blob constableshrugged.

Mr Rainey winced and braced for impact as he watched a cackling Oompa Loompa press a switch on the side of the giant contraption.

But the 'fan' did not spin. Instead of turning, the great rotor blades began flapping like birds, sending out gentle ripples. To describe them was to speak of sonic waves slowed to a fraction of their normal speed, slithering over the grass and the awe-struck bikers. The dirt did not simply disintegrate, nor was it even washed. One second it was there, and the next, Mort and Ichabod were as clean as they had been before they'd arrived. Suffice to say neither of them had been sparkling, but all confectionary residues were removed.

The constable and the writer dismounted their bikes, unbuckled their water guns and headed back to the others; both stunned at the chocolatier's method of cleaning.

"Good heavens, Mr Wonka," said Crane. "It's no surprise to me how you get the funding for such a facility as this. Remarkable, truly remarkable."

Mort nodded in passive agreement but smirked as he added, "Good job Sparrow wasn't back there. He'd've vanished."

The reply was an obviously indignant: "Oi!"

Edward giggled.

"Well now that we're cleaned up, I should think it's time we all got back, mm?" Ichabod proposed. "I'm sure Mr Wonka will need time to alter the machine so that we all get back at exactly the moments we came out of, is that not so?"

William seemed to have frozen on the spot.

Jack waved a hand in front of the chocolatier's face but there was no response.

"What'sa matter with 'im?"

"He's having a flashback," the others said in unison.

The doppelgangers looked at each other suspiciously but decided to dismiss the moment.

"He's having a what?" the pirate asked, having escaped this infamous technique.

"A flashback," Mort answered. "It's when you remember something significant to you that happens in your life and you have to stop and think about it."

Jack wrinkled his nose.

"Sounds like a poetic way of tryin' to explain a memory."

"These ones last longer," Ichabod furthered. "They hold you in their grasp so you can't get away from them until they're done showing you more and more of what you are desperate to forget."

"Oh I see," said Jack. "Nope, never 'ad one. Not yet anyway. Men like me don't 'ave time to stop and think too 'ard about what they've done. Always got to keep on looking ahead, watch where I'm putting me feet, savvy?"

"I wonder what he's thinking," Crane whispered, his attention back to the fazed out Mr Wonka.

"_None of your stories have finished_," Mort's voice echoed in the chocolatier's mind. He was back there in the production zone of his factory. "_Hell, Ed's here ain't even begun... you got a tragic life left to lead is all I can say."_

"Mr Wonka?" Jack's voice cut through from what seemed like the distance.

William continued to stare blankly but responded, "Yah, you guys just go on ahead. I'll be over in a jiff."

The others exchanged glances and started off back towards the machine. Mr Wonka's cane whipped out and barred Mort's way but, eerily, he was still staring in another direction.

"Except you, Mr Rainey. I wanna word. This way." Mr Wonka tore his gaze away from the scene in his mind and he walked off a little way through a miniature orchard of candy trees.

Mort glanced over his shoulder as the rest of the company wandered out of sight then he pushed his spectacles higher on the bridge of his nose and followed after the chocolatier.

When he caught up, Mr Wonka was standing quietly with his back to him, seemingly watching the flow of the river as it curved out the other side of the orchard. Mort shuffled his feet awkwardly. It only took seconds for his nerves to turn to a defensive anger.

"Mr Wonka, what is this ab-?"

He was cut off as Mr Wonka suddenly spun around and pinned him against a tree with his cane. There could not have been too much force behind it as the tree itself was as thin as a maypole and fragile, but the look in Mr Wonka's eyes, quite unlike the dreamy glaze he'd had minutes before, held Mort in place. It was a dangerous look, a wild one, one that was even scaring the chocolatier himself, but he had to know…

"What happens to Edward?" William demanded.

"What?"

"You know what happens in his story," Mr Wonka hissed. "And you are gonna tell me…sir."

Mort Rainey opened and closed his mouth a few times, uncertain of what to say. He decided to do what was asked of him and told William, as quickly as he could manage, the story of Edward Scissorhands.

"But it doesn't matter now," Mort finished. "He can change it. We can all change our outcomes now, can't we?"

It seemed like an eternity that Mr Wonka met with the hopeful gaze of the writer. He knew that it was too risky for any of them to return with further knowledge about their tales than they'd started with, but he could also see that he couldn't let them know what he was going to have to do. If they were anything like Mr Rainey, they would fight to the ends of the Earth to keep their memory to alter their fates.

For one of the first times in his life, William had to make an adult decision.

"Course we can, Mr Rainey," he said, forcing a smile. He released Mort and ineptly patted his shoulder with the extreme tips of his fingers. "Let's scoot on back to the others then, skit scat!"

Mr Wonka pushed out a small laugh and ushered an uncomfortable Mr Rainey on his way. Staying a few paces behind, the chocolatier pulled out a handful of sweets – each one glassy and round like a marble. He looked at them sadly. They glittered back. He returned them to his pocket with a sigh and walked on.

* * *

(1) Apparently neither does the author of this fanfiction, having ridden only on thumb-operated quads. 


	26. Roots

A/N: Wow, I really thought this would be the end but there's still so much to be said amongst them and a few extra gags to jam in. Sorry as usual for how long I've been taking...I'm on the last stretch of my 2nd year at Uni so I've been writing other stuff. Also blame online gaming and cute boyfriend. I would have written more but I've got into the habit of writing 2 A4 page chapters so there will be _at least _one more to go. Damn it, or maybe hooray? Whichever you choose. Hope you enjoy and thank you as always for the reviews! DFQ xxx

* * *

Mr Wonka and Morton Rainey came over the hill to the sounds of raucous singing and idle banter. Jack had decided it was the apt time to teach Edward, Constable Crane and a troop of Oompa Loompas his current favourite song. Of course it was the pirate captain himself who was singing the loudest and most discordantly.

"… _we're black sheep, we're really bad eggs! Drink up me hearties, yo ho!"_

"Mr Sparrow, are you quite sure this is a _real _pirate song?"

"O' course it is, Bodders, one o' the best there is too. Few ditties can a pirate know that aren't to be saying things of murder, pillaging and gold. Sadly the creative genius that is the art of song writing is few and far between the likes of my kind. Now this one, this one's my own, mate. None o' that awful stuff that blackens the name of the freedom of being a good man but a scallywag as well!"

He grinned at Edward who was still chanting happily, a team of Wonka's workers dancing about him.

"Not to discredit your claims, Jack, but the song seems vaguely familiar as something most children get taught when they first hear about pirates," Ichabod pointed out. "It would be doubtful that it would originate from the teachings of a pirate himself."

"You're just jealous, Crane. Jealous of the many talents of the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow," Jack replied, parading himself before the giggling Oompa Loompas.

The constable spied Mort as he walked onto the scene.

"Ah, Mr Rainey, perhaps you would shed some light on the subject? Did Mr Sparrow invent this song?"

Mort creased his brow in the strain of thought, granting the pirate a smidgeon of hope that the writer would not be able to betray him. Then Mort smiled cruelly at Jack over Ichabod's shoulder.

"He got marooned on an island with the daughter of a governor. She taught him the song after he got himself legless with a bottle of rum," he laughed as Jack waved his arms desperately to shut him up.

A sudden yapping echoed from the riverbanks, causing the companions to turn their heads.

The Werepretzel puppy shook off a myriad of chocolate droplets and bounded for the pirate. Jack yelled as he was bowled to the floor. The others gasped but then burst into laughter as the excited creature started licking Jack's face.

Mr Wonka moved closer to see what was happening.

"Oh yeah," he said. "My workers informed me of the disturbance you guys caused in my Werepretzel lair. You fought off the leader, now that little tyke most probably sees you as the boss."

Jack sat up, gently pushing the canine pretzel away.

"I'd forgotten about that. Is the ringleader safe?" he wondered.

"He's been better," the chocolatier grumbled. "But he's all patched up. They heal pretty quickly."

The pirate smiled and scratched the Werepretzel's head softly, taking care not to puncture the dough.

"I was meaning to ask you about that, Mr Wonka," said Ichabod. "Whatever are these things doing in a chocolate factory? You surely don't let people eat them?"

William was shocked.

"Oh my dear constable, no! Ew! Such an idea is unthinkable. That and we'd have an epidemic of werewolves on our hands. No, these are my loyal test subjects. I can't very well go experimenting on humans and I certainly don't want to resort to animal cruelty. It would be even more dangerous to attempt this work on my Oompa Loompas. Instead I injected a solution into an inanimate form – a pretzel – that contained jam instead of blood."

At this point he leaned in to whisper to Ichabod.

"See, when the lycanthropy virus tastes blood it automatically craves for meat, but when I introduced it to jam, it developed a sweet tooth, haha! Though being such a magical disease, it brought the pretzels to life. Still, I can feed these babies on nothing but sugar and they're happy. Why you ask? I'll have you know that lycanthropy is a very serious illness and it's necessary to find a cure as soon as possible. With none of that silver bullet barbarism too."

"If you say they only eat sugar, why did they attack myself and Mr Sparrow?"

"They make excellent guard dogs, don't they?" Mr Wonka answered but said no more on the matter.

Perhaps luckily for the chocolatier, Ichabod's questioning was interrupted as the Werepretzel bounded in his direction in pursuit of an edible stick most likely thrown by Jack. Ichabod reeled out of its path just in time.

"You ought to let loose sometimes, Crane," the pirate chuckled. "Heaven preserve us, you might 'ave some fun."

"I'm more of a cat person myself," said the constable.

Mort and Jack made faces of distaste, Edward looked undecided. William, however, exclaimed, "Me too! You gotta admire an animal that takes pride in its appearance. Nuttin' wrong with that I tell ya, not a whisker, heehee!"

He cleared his throat at the silence that followed, though it was not as uncomfortable as usual.

"Okay then, I think we've all done enough stallin'. If ya could all gather round and say your goodbyes and whatchamacallums, you can all go back where ya belong before ya cause any more damage."

He made a toothy smile.

At these words there was much hand shaking, or in Jack's case hugging, since he was the least afraid to show his companionable nature – unpleasant though it was for the receiver of his shall we say _aromatic _embraces.

Mr Wonka gave out his marble-like sweets offhandedly whilst they were busy talking.

"Providence be with you, Bodders me ol' mate. I wouldn't wanna be facin' that 'orseman with mortal flesh an' the like. Especially not yours. No offence."

"Very little taken, Mr Sparrow. Jack. _Captain_," Ichabod chuckled. "I'm sure I'll find it much more bearable now you've helped me realise as to why he's doing these awful deeds. Good luck with retrieving your ship."

The pirate frowned.

"I never tol' you I'd lost a ship."

The constable smirked at him.

"You give away more than you know, Jack. The way you were crooning over that boat of Mr Wonka's, never once mentioning a young lady who'd won your affections…the trinkets in your hair. You strike me as a very materialistic fellow. I noticed earlier you were even moaning about some sort of hat you'd lost. And, well, a pirate captain without his ship is just…tragic."

Jack grinned.

"Got yer detective streak back it seems."

"All right everyone," William called. "If those of you I gave sweets wouldn't mind suckin' on 'em, then you can all get on in the chamber. Mr Crane, I gave you two so's you can give one to Mr Edward."

The chatter died down and the few friends holding sweets looked at them in puzzlement. Mr Wonka bit his lip nervously as he saw Ichabod's lips about to form the question he was dreading: why?


	27. Sweet Deceit and Final Words

A/N: (Gasp) Yes, it's almost over. But don't fret, there is still one more chapter of the _story _at least. You'll find out what I planned for the sort of 'appendix' when it's done, and I hope you enjoy that too though it won't be anything to do with the sequel or an actual 'story'. It might be bad but oh well, hopefully the story was what counts hehe. Enjoy, my wonderful reviewers! DFQ xxx

Edit: There was a serious plothole that has been amended in this updated version of the chapter.

* * *

"It's all very simple," William said, his eyes fixed on the rest of the group. "Dimensional travel is likely to be the most disorientating form of transport seein' how it's so far and reeking of countless mysteries. So, those of you I figured might have a problem with nausea now have sickness pills, 'kay?"

Constable Crane wasn't convinced.

"But, Mr Wonka -," he began.

"O-kay?" the chocolatier repeated sternly.

Mort flinched and would have swallowed his sweet immediately had Ichabod not stayed his hand.

"Not that I'm one to mistrust you, Mr Wonka. Indeed you've been a marvellous host to us all but I can't help but feel you're keeping something from us. I say this because you have given one pill for all of us save Jack. Why would he be less prone to sickness than ourselves?"

"Duh. He's a sailor?"

"Pirate," Jack corrected.

"Whatever," Wonka replied, waving a dismissing hand. "Mr Sparrow should be used to jiggling all over the place from life on the sea. He won't need one."

"But…he felt sick in the elevator…" Edward murmured.

"All right fine, he gets one as well then!" William snapped suddenly and gave out one more marble-sweet, this time to Jack. "Now eat up!"

On the verge of tending to Edward first, Ichabod noticed Mr Wonka bite his lip.

"Everyone stop," said the constable, causing the rest to sigh. "Mr Wonka, I sincerely urge you to tell us what we are taking. Really. I want the truth."

"You can't han-," Mr Wonka started but trailed off at a warning glance from Mort. His shoulders sagged. His now watery eyes traced the floor. "They make you forget."

There was a gasp from Mr Rainey. The pirate, the constable and the scissor-handed boy looked as though they'd been slapped in the face.

"Forget what?" asked Jack.

"Being here, meetin' each other, learnin' more about yourselves than you're supposed to," the chocolatier answered mournfully. "If you go back with more information than you started with, you'll change your stories."

"But you said we _could_ change them!" Mort cried.

"Of course I told you that," said Wonka. "How else am I meant to send someone back full knowin' he's gonna be a killer? You can't change your stories, not without risking the constitution of time itself! You're all endangering the universe if you step in that machine with the memories you have. Mr Crane, you learned too much about the horseman, and Edward…he's heard about his future."

"And what of Mr Sparrow?" Ichabod demanded. "Why didn't he get one from the start? Mr Rainey practically let on that he's going to survive the battle he was brought from."

"Listen to your own words, sir. He _let on _that he'll survive, he didn't say for certain. I'm sorry that I had to lie but I didn't see any other way of gettin' you guys to take away a part of your memories."

There was a few moments' silence.

"You're a good man, Mr Wonka," the constable said at last. "If you say this is what must be done, then this is what we must do. It has been an honour to meet all of you and I wish you all the very best with -."

"What Bodders is _trying _to say with his meandering little speech is 'yes they'll take the pills and we'll start off by apprehending Mr Rainey before he's any smaller of a dot on our horizon', savvy?"

"What?"

Of course, Mort was dashing for the hill as fast as his battered slippers would allow.

Jack pinched Mr Wonka's cane and knelt down. Curiously, he swung it around like a staff so that it brushed over the sugar grass. At the required thud, the pirate's hand shot out and plucked an invisible chocolate pineapple from its resting place.

Jack stood up and launched the fruit after the writer. Several yards away, Mort dropped – stunned.

The constable and the pirate retrieved him and held him in place beside the dimension machine.

"I've got two words for you, Mr Wonka," Mort growled. "Gene Wilder."

Baffled, the others dragged him into the machine's chamber and awaited the chocolatier's commands.

"Better force-feed Mr Rainey his pill before you take your own," said Mr Wonka. "Oh, and -." He skipped quickly over to the part of the hill where they'd had their picnic and returned with the black hat. "Make sure he's holding that. Anything else? Oh yeah, as soon as you give him the pill, everyone stand well back from each other. Don't wanna be appearing in the wrong worlds now, or even worse, only half of any of you arriving, haha!"

Ichabod gulped.

Jack put up a finger in question.

"Do I still 'ave to take one?"

Mr Wonka answered by tilting his head and looking at the constable expectantly.

It only took a moment for Ichabod to catch on.

"Not if you don't want to, Mr Sparrow," he said. "I doubt you know enough to jeopardise your existence. Likewise, it'd be a shame for all of us to leave without the memory."

Edward nodded.

Jack shrugged and passed his pill back to Mr Wonka who took it somewhat cheerily.

"Is that all, then?" wondered the constable. "Can we go?"

"'old on," Jack interjected. He grinned with an ounce of guilt as the others glared impatiently. "Don't suppose anyone's got a shot for me pistol? I ran out."

Ichabod sighed and fumbled with a pocket on the inside of his coat.

"In all my days, Mr Sparrow, whoever heard of a pirate that only carried one shot?" He took Jack's pistol and tipped a powder shot into its chamber. "There now, be careful not to set it off, it's the only spare I didn't leave in Sleepy Hollow."

Jack received his newly-filled pistol gladly.

"Much obliged, Bodders. Not exactly armed to the teeth yerself, eh?"

He tucked the weapon back into its holster and smiled absurdly at the group.

"Okay! Are you all ready?" the chocolatier cried excitedly.

"Yes!" shouted Edward and Ichabod.

"Aye!" roared Jack.

"Nnnnf!" said Mort.

"All righty, give Mr Rainey his medicine," William giggled.

Jack held the hapless writer still as the constable forced the marble sweet down his throat, taking care not to choke him. Then, after placing the hat on Mort's head, the rest of the companions in the chamber exchanged warm glances and took their own pills.

Mr Wonka meanwhile had taken a notepad from his inside pocket and was scribbling something quite hurriedly. Having done so, he tore the piece of paper from the notebook and scurried over to the chamber. Taking out another marble sweet, this one black in colour, he placed it upon the note and then crumpled the paper around it like a parcel.

The inhabitants looked at him blankly, believing themselves in a dream.

"Don't be alarmed, my dear people," said Mr Wonka. "You'll all wake up in a matter of minutes, 'kay? Just this one last thing to do."

He reached in and slipped the parcel between the nervous Edward's thumb and palm. Satisfied it would stay, Mr Wonka rushed back to the side of the machine and punched a sequence of buttons.

The chamber door slid shut and the machine began its performance. The discs spun, lights flashed and sirens blared. Steam hissed out of vents and the whole contraption shuddered uncontrollably.

At last it gave one final grumble and rested. The door opened and Mr Wonka peered in, anxious, biting the tips of his gloves. He sighed with relief, yet a little despondently.

They were gone.


	28. Forgotten

A/N: Huzzah! I finally got it to work! Here is the last 'official' chapter of OneDepp. Some of you may like it, some of you may not. All is not as itmight seem. Enjoy my dear readers and hope to see you for the only minutely unrelated appendix/ices. DFQ xxx

Edit: I have now been through the entirety of this fic and solved, I am certain, _every _plothole including thedisappearance of Jack's rings, one spelling error, Jack's empty pistol chamber and the Werepretzel puppy. Anything else has been left for possible sequel usage. I'm so glad these glaring mistakes weren't noticed by anyone so far, muahaha!

* * *

Mort Rainey opened his eyes to find himself alone, on his couch, in his shack. No sign of any of those mirrors of his face. No man in a top hat watching him whilst hands restrained him. All at once the other mirrors had let go of him and each swallowed something. It was just a dream, nothing more, and only a flicker at that.

The writer sat up and rubbed at his face, nudging at the cloudy spectacles astride his nose. He focused on an empty packet resting on his coffee table and decided to blame it on his nightmare.

"No more Doritos for you, Mr Rainey."

That said he flexed his jaw, rolled over on the couch and fell asleep.

* * *

Constable Ichabod Crane blinked from a daze and clung tightly to his horse's mane as he reeled around to see his pursuer. It couldn't really be the headless horseman of the myth, could it? It certainly looked headless at that moment.

Ichabod gasped as the flaming pumpkin was hurled towards him. Unable to prevent it, the grinning fruit clubbed him in the head and he fell to the leaf-strewn ground.

Amid the sounds of human laughter coming from further into the woods, the constable's eyes rolled back and he slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

The vile Captain Barbossa, for half a second, suffered a bout of confusion. Midway through an epic battle his opponent, his one nemesis, had appeared invisible – as though he'd been snatched out of the air. He would have to ask about that later, but Barbossa didn't know there was no _later_.

As if he'd never vanished, Jack Sparrow popped up in front of the cursed pirate. His drawn cutlass drove into the mutinous Barbossa's chest. Stunned at what he'd done, Jack had no time to stop his enemy from ripping the sword out of his torso and running him through.

_Oh bloody hell, not again._

* * *

Edward woke up in his bed of cloth and straw, the humble sleeping place within an alcove in the mansion's attic. He sat up slowly, taking care not to nick himself with his own hands, and smiled at the moonlight shining in from the splintered roof.

A piece of paper rustled in the part of his bladed hand that might be called a palm if it weren't so shrouded in black leather. Taking enormous care, he turned to the array of newspaper and book clippings he'd pinned around his bed and, holding one clipping still with the flat of a blade, he pulled out a drawing pin with his teeth. The hand still holding the paper let it fall onto his lap. He unfurled it slowly, which took a painful amount of an everyday person's time but Edward was very patient. Then he slid a blade beneath it, lifted the paper to the wall and with his mouth pinned it with the clipping.

When the last bit of the note came uncrumpled, a tiny thing that looked like a marble dropped out, struck from the bed and rolled along the floorboards into the shadows.

Puzzled and curious, the boy looked to the note he had pinned and began to read.

_Dear Edward,_

_You don't know who I am, but maybe some day you will remember. I hope that day will not be too soon, however. Do not be alarmed and please keep this letter always for it comes from a far-off friend. I have left to you a gift, one that is very small and I plead for you not to touch it until it is absolutely necessary._

_One day there may come a time when your world will become that little bit too cruel and difficult to live in. Even I can make mistakes, and if that be the case, I wish you the very best. But if I am right and you ever find yourself cut off from the world outside after you have entered it, promise me you will eat the pill I have given. Do not worry, it's not poison! My condolences for how awkward you may find to pick the darn thing up._

_I shake you warmly by your…uh…scissors,_

_Sincerely, _

_W.W._

The scissor-handed boy blinked then stared thoughtfully into the darkness where this strange piece of confectionary had escaped. He strained to remember something but it was like the ghost of a memory, something locked away deep in his mind…but a something that made him feel happy and that one bit less lonely.

Edward got up from his bed, drew in a breath of the crisp night air and then headed down to tend to his garden.

* * *

William sighed as he picked up the last remnant of his dismembered machine and passed it, hesitantly, to a worker. The Oompa Loompa nodded sympathetically to the chocolatier. Near to the ground the Werepretzel puppy nosed his shoes and whined.

"Guess it's back to the chocolate-covered grindstone then," Mr Wonka muttered. Then he laughed to himself. "Well will ya look at me mumblin' on like a doozy."

He pasted a bright smile on his face as he scanned the waiting crowd of tiny creatures.

"To work, people, to work! Less than a fortnight before the competition and only a smidgeon more time than that before we have visitors! This place'll never be up to scratch if we don't start this instant. Scoot!"

He threw up his arms, causing the Oompa Loompas to squeal excitedly. They fell over each other in the scramble to do their employer's bidding. Mr Wonka even found enough delight to chuckle at their movements.

As the last of his workers disappeared over the hill, the Werepretzel bounding after them, William's shoulders sagged and he blinked at a lone tear. Then he sniffed haughtily, shook himself and dusted off his sleeves.

He was just about to stride off across the hill when a sound made him stop in his tracks. It was like the sound of metal on metal, scraping…like scissor blades brushing together. His heart skipped at the thought of being reunited with whom he had claimed as his brother.

The chocolatier spun on his heel and started out, "Ed-!"

His jaw dropped.

"Not quite who you were expecting?" said the woman.

She wasn't what he would have called beautiful, but then Mr Wonka wasn't the sort of man to tell you what you'd find on the cover of _Vogue_. Not that he'd never read it. In fact he could probably tell you the description of every outfit in the magazine that month, but to see those models as people – it made him tremble.

Which is exactly what this woman made him do. She was of his height, but of course a curved, feminine build. Dark hair fountained around her head like thick spider legs, streaked with purple and red. Her eyes were discordant – one gold, one silver, both neatly edged with black liner that flicked out at the sides. She appeared to be wearing a black catsuit, but it did not reflect in that tasteless plastic manner, and about her shoulders hung an equally black cloak of raven feathers.

William felt very uncomfortable. _How dare _this woman not only trespass but attempt to out-dress him too? He opened his mouth to give her a piece of his highly respected mind but he froze when he saw the two beings squatting either side of her.

They sniggered, small green things with pink eyes and tufts of yellow-white hair coming from their heads and ears. Their noses were fat and large; fangs jutted from their bottom lips. What made the chocolatier's blood run cold was the sight of the knives in their hands – their scraping so similar to Edward's scissors.

"Wha'ou want?" he choked out.

"I don't _want_, Mr Wonka…William…I _take_."

The frightful woman hissed revealing two horribly pointed canines and strode for him. She grabbed his wrist and held her other hand aloft. The hapless Mr Wonka gazed in terror as a globe of jade-coloured crystal imploded into existence in her outstretched palm. For a moment he felt the cool glass of the orb touch his forehead and then they vanished.

The rushing of the chocolate waterfall and the humming of distant machines consumed the silence. All that remained of the world's finest chocolatier was a splendid cane, tipped with black and white stripes, nestling cosily in the swudge.

**One Depp Too Far For Mr Wonka - Daemon Faerie Queen**


	29. Appendix: ODTF the Outtakes

**A/N:** Sorry guys, but I'm moving this appendix to my RPG site. Just follow the link in my profile. Apparently this site doesn't want people to post in script formats. Whatever happened to experimental writing? Pfft. As a creative writer I'm very moved to complain but because I don't want my stuff blasted off the face of the internet, for now I'm keeping this chappie elsewhere.


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